


BBC1-Sherlock x reader inserts

by DeducingAngel



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Drabbles, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fake Character Death, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Fluffy Ending, Fluffyfest, Heavy Angst, Imagine your OTP, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Inserts - Freeform, Irene Adler and Molly Hooper are parents, Kid Moriarty, Kid Mycroft, Kid Sebastian, Kid Sherlock, Light Angst, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Mentioned Irene Adler, Mild Smut, Minor Canonical Character(s), Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), OTP Feels, One Shot Collection, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Original Holmes Characters - Freeform, Original Moriarty Characters, Original Watson Characters - Freeform, POV Jim Moriarty, POV Sherlock Holmes, Parts, Parts with ships, Past Irene Adler/Sherlock Holmes, Reader one shots, Reader-Insert, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Sebastian Moran and Jim Moriarty are Parents, Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty Fluff, Sevrin moran MAYBE, Shameless Smut, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are Parents, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Fluff, Sherlock characters, Shipping, Smut, Teen Moriarty, Teen Mycroft, Teen Sebastian, Teen Sherlock, Temporary Character Death, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, sherlock-freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2018-08-31 21:58:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8595406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeducingAngel/pseuds/DeducingAngel
Summary: A long book of reader-inserts, not all of them are romantic. Just warning you. A LOT of shipping in this, so yeah. Have fun on the wild rollercoaster of too many inserts that it gets semi-confusing!





	1. Army Sister [Sherlock/Reader]

"You need to chill, Sherl." You gently messaged his shoulders, trying to get him to calm down. You two had been secretly dating for nearly three months now. Neither of you wanted to know how John, Mycroft, nor Lestrade would react, this was Sherlock Holmes, after all. It was difficult, but you always managed to find just enough time for each other.

  
"How am I supposed to 'chill'? Mycroft knows. I know he knows." Sherlock was freaking out, because Mycroft had made a comment, resembling a joke, about Sherlock getting married to his 'girl'. Of course, Mycroft had no idea you two were dating, he was referring to Ms. Adler, who he had recently found out was still alive, and well at that. You circled around him, straddling him into his chair.

  
"Who cares? He didn't give you any guff about it, it's fine! Who's he going to tell, anyways? Mr. Iceman, remember?" You both chuckled, and Sherlock just lightly shook his head.

  
"John. He'll tell John. Who will then rip me in half for 'ruining' his darling sister." He rested his head on your shoulder, and you rolled your eyes at his preposterous assumption. Though, he probably wasn’t wrong. John, the excessively overprotective army brother, and Sherlock’s best friend who knew how he was. Case made worse by what he did to Janine.

  
"Sherlock, look at me." He reluctantly lifted his head, allowing you to be struck with those unnatural shade of azure, dulled, but somehow enhanced, with the silver undertones. You placed one hand on those high-angled cheekbones.

  
"That idea of John hating you, is ridiculous. You haven't ruined me, you haven't hurt me, you haven't changed me; I'm still me. What you have done, is love me, and made me love you. If anything, John should thank you. Alright?" Your voice was like suede as you spoke words truer than any he'd ever heard. He gave you one of those elusive smiles, one of the ones that he only seemed to get when solving a murder or while on a particularly exciting case. He pulled you closer, flicking his gaze to your lips for confirmation. You leaned closer in response, and your lips grazed each other's. He pushed his fully on to yours, and slowly started to let them dance in their excited bliss. It only took, but a moment for yours to become their partner. He let his hands rest on your waist, as yours snaked around his neck, gently swirling in his hair. These moments were few and far between, and you were sure to capture every moment of it in your mind. The kiss lasted for minutes, and only ceased after it was too late. John gently opened the door, a file in hand as he sauntered in.

  
"Hey, Sherlock, Leatrade wants to know if you'd be intereste-" He froze, staring in utter horrific shock to what he had just witnessed. You and Sherlock watched each other, waiting for someone to make a move, worry plastered on top of any and all other features.  
"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" John's surprise quickly transformed into anger at his friend, and his younger sister. Both of you turned their stare to John, as you both stood up, careful to make no sudden moves, like it would somehow send the beast charging.

  
"John, I can explain." Sherlock tried, not sounding very believable. He snuck a worried glance towards you, and you returned it. He swallowed a lump in his throat. 

"Oh, really? You can explain why MY SISTER was sitting on YOUR LAP, while you were TYING TONGUES WITH HER?!" His voice couldn't seem to decide on a volume. Some points it was calm, others it was venomous, some were just plain furious. 

"Actually, yes..." He trailed off, trying to decide how to tell John. You looked between the two nervously, fidgeting as John glared daggers into Sherlock.

"Oh, for heaven's sake! Me and Sherlock are dating. Have been for a while now," You picked Sherlock's hand up into yours, "See?" You took a deep breath, glad to finally get that off your chest. John's jaw dropped, and his eyes were the size of baseballs, as he stared between the two of you. You both nervously shifted, the tension building. Without warning, John clenched his jaw, returning to glaring at Sherlock.

"You bastard!" He hissed, "I'll kill you!" Seeing that this was going nowhere good, Sherlock began running, John following him, screaming threats.

"SHE'S MY SISTER! HOW DARE YOU!" You eventually got in between John and Sherlock, John starring in fury at the man behind you.

"John! Get ahold of yourself! I wasn't forced into a relationship with Sherlock! I'm happy, John! And if that means nothing to you, then fine. I'll go back to how things were before, only I'll be upset, and miserable! D'you want that?" John's eyes softened, and he looked to you. He began contemplating what this meant. His sister, and his best friend who was supposed to be vacant of any feeling, dating. In love. But... If he made her happy... John took a deep breath, and sighed, giving in.

"Alright, fine. But, Sherlock? You really want to date _Sherlock?!_ " He almost seemed hurt by it, but you nodded solemnly, and he seemed to consider it, "If this is really what you want, I'm here for you. Oh, and Sherlock?" Sherlock seemed surprised by his consent and simply nodded in response, probably forgetting to say what he was thinking aloud, again.  

"You ever hurt my little sister, I know where you live." He pointed a finger accusingly at the much taller man. Sherlock looked at you, and took your hand in both of his, smiling mischievously.

  
"Oh, John!" He sighed sarcastically, "I'd never even dream of it!" He retorted, and you laughed, but John just realized how uncomfortable this was, so he decided to take this as his cue to leave. 

"Um, sure, yeah. I think I'm going to go now..?" He pointed towards the door, but neither of you responded. He groaned, and exited the flat. Probably still worried about where this would lead.

"See? Told you he'd hate me." Sherlock had to ruin the moment. Giving him a quick eye roll, before leaning into him. He just always  _had_ to be right, and wouldn't be happy until it was admitted. 

"Alright, fine. You were right. Now, where were we?" He smirked down at you, and pulled your lips to his once more.


	2. House of memories [Moriarty/Reader]

_If you're a lover, you should know_

_The lonely moments just get lonelier,_

_The longer you're in love_

Three years ago, today, the love of your life committed suicide on the roof of St. Bart's. Why? why the hell would he do that to you? You took a swig of your coke as you pulled out an old photo box. Lately you had tried to ignore the memories captured in this box, knowing what they did to you, and therefore your boyfriend. You were currently dating Sebastian Moran. Thanks to him, not only did you have a rock, but you had stopped drinking, and cutting yourself. Thanks to him, you were still alive. He always reminded you of how much it would hurt the love you both had lost to see you like that, and thanks to his everlasting affection and care, you both got through it. Leaning on the other for support. Continuing to stare at the box, you took a deep breath. As Pan!c at the Disco blared from your phone, you opened the box, careful not to scratch the artfully designed wood. House of memories started playing...

_Take my picture now_

_Shake it til you see it!_

You pulled out a photo of you and James on your first date, and smiled. You could remember the taste of wine and sweet words, but also how you both originally had been so damn bored, you ended up running through the busy London streets in three inch heels, smiling and laughing. It, most literally, was the best date of your life. At that time, you hadn't known who he was yet, and you wouldn't until you had already fallen for him. The memory played back in your mind.

**~Flashback~**

You climbed the steps up to your friend, Sherlock's flat. Something was off. You heard talking, and not Sherlock and John, either. The voice sounded familiar... The Irish draw... James? You couldn't make out what he was saying, but you didn't know they knew each other. You brushed off the idea that it could be him, realizing that it was probably just some random Irish person. That you just wanted to see your boyfriend after your trip, and now you were projecting that longing anywhere you could. Again. You would see him later, you reminded yourself once more, before continuing your trek up the stairs. It was the third time today. You opened Sherlock's flat door, and sure enough, there was James, carving an apple, and speaking with Sherlock.

  
"I owe y-" He stopped when he heard the door open, not realizing you knew Sherlock, he immediately was shocked. And a little bit... Scared. Thoughts ran through your mind at what was going on. This didn't exactly seem like a friendly chat...

"James?" You asked in total disbelief, this was weird, even for your standards. Coincidences, as you had been taught by Sherlock and Mycroft, almost never happen, and are never truly the case. The universe is rarely ever so lazy.   


"Y-Y/n?!" He exclaimed, the stutter in his voice quite evident. It didn't take long for Sherlock to asses the situation, coming to the correct conclusion that this was the man you had been seeing.    


"You really should choose your boyfriends more wisely, y/n. It appears your dear, sweet, James here is-" You both looked to Sherlock, you in curiosity, James in plead. James cut him off, pissed nowhere close to what he felt. Anger, fury, and the like fell over him in a drastic tide. If Adler had been right about one thing, a disguise is a reflection of oneself. And James Moriarty, no matter how hard he tried to deny it, always had a heart. Wasn't cold, he never could be. The personalities of him, and your boyfriend, therefore, lined up in a perfect unison.    


"I'm warning you Sherlock!" He hissed in a tone that you couldn't believe was coming from this sweet man you'd fallen for, even if he wasn't quite right in the head. His tone was always so wistful, gentle. The soft tones of his accent swinging like music as he spoke, yet this, this was sharp, dangerous, even. It felt like a jungle cat, ready to rip your throat out. And it terrified you.   


"What the hell is going on here?" You demanded, sending fear through both men. Sherlock knew better than to mess with you, and James knew all too well what would be coming next.   


"Your 'boyfriend' is the most dangerous man in London, the world's only consulting criminal." Sherlock stated nonchalantly, and James closed his eyes, as if when he opened them this would all have been a nightmare. You froze. He looked at you, face contorted with pain, apology, and fear.    


"Y/n, I'm so sorry, I-I didn't mean for you to-" It was too late. You ran out of there, and slammed the door behind you. Part of you wanted to tell him you never wanted to see him again, but no matter how hard you'd tried to believe it, that would simply never be the case.

A couple days or so later, you went to his flat to talk. Yes, he was who he was, but you loved him. You couldn't help it. You'd already been dating for nearly two years, and for once in your life, you felt accepted, happy. Taking the spare key from out of the false bottom of the plant pot, you tried to think of what to say. After twirling the shiny gold key in your fingers for what seemed like a decade, you unlocked the door, and stepped inside. The place wasn't the one you remembered. It was a total disaster. James was always so tidy, but it looked like a tornado had ran through here. His lounge area had always been kept free of any unneeded items, but now you could barely see it. The ceramic pots that once held gorgeous exotic flowers were now in smashed heaps, serving as a tomb for the long late flowers, no more than a length of shriveled stem and petals. One glance towards the kitchen, and it wasn't much better. The main difference was the knife stuck in the wall.   


"Get the hell out, Moran! Before you say it, no, I'm not going to bloody talk to her! She ha-" he seemed to choke on the word, "HATES me!" A few distorted sobs made it through the door, and when you opened the door to his bedroom, it was even worse. Bottles of whiskey littered the floor, and James was on his bed, still in the same Westwood from a few days ago. It's grey material scrunched and creased in ways you were shocked he could live with. Your eyes scanned the room, always being drawn back to the man lying face down on the bed, which was so messed up, you'd be surprised if it wasn't torn up.   


"Maybe you should talk to her..." You stated timidly, and his eyes shot open at the sound of your voice. He shot up and looked at you, as if you were a thrones rose; He wanted you, but was afraid to hurt himself. He sat there for awhile, just blinking and trying to form words which refused to come for awhile.   


"Y/n..." He whispered in disbelief. It was all he said, but even the small amount of speech it took seemed to hurt him. It hurt, seeing him like this. His hair had always been so pristine and neatly kept, but now it was a mop of static and grease on his head. The light stubble, he always worked so hard to keep in line, grown out of control. He looked so different, so... Broken.   


"I came to talk. So, either we talk, or I leave forever. Your choice." You tried to sound confident, but what had happened to him, made your heart lurch. He stumbled out of his now messed up bed, and over to you. He reached out to you carefully, tears stinging his eyes, and like he thought that if he touched you; you would break. You weren't so sure he was wrong.   


"I love you." He whispered, and your breath hitches in your throat. A little over a year and a half of dating, and he had never once said it. It was your turn to blink and stare, now. His hand was lightly grazing your cheek as it moved to rest on it as your head bobbed up and down, ever so slightly.   


"Okay." You confirmed to him that this was real, and he seemed to be happier than ever. He instantly pulled you to him, another tear slipping down his cheek and onto yours as he connected your lips. Another thing he had never done; kiss you. He tasted of Irish whiskey, and his lips were chapped, but you couldn't care any less. You felt all the love in the world in that one kiss, as his arms held you tightly. No lust or admiration, simply love. It sent adrenaline pumping through your body. If your heart could speed any faster than it did from his touch, it definitely was now.

**~Flashback Ends~**

_And when your fantasies,_

_Become your legacy_

You took another swig of the soda, and pulled out a photograph of your 'lazy sun-date' as the two of you coined it. You smiled, and looked at it deeper. It was a selfie you had taken to commemorate the first time you had seen James in anything other than a Westwood suit. He was in a pair of black sweatpants, that had 'Supernatural' going down the leg. You had gotten him into your fandom, and he was happy to show it. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and of course you didn't complain, because it was hot. And, well, he was too. His hair wasn't done, but still looked amazing, and he had his signature smirk pulled as he looked at you and the camera. You had an MCR tee on, and a matching pair of sweatpants. You pulled a Harley Quinn face in the photo. A tear slipped from your eye, and you quickly brushed it away with the back of your hand. You pulled another photo from the box, and instantly laughed at it. The memory played back.

_I think of you from time to time_

**~Flashback~**

  
Tears flooded down your face, as the taller man aimed a gun at you. Kidnapped, drugged, and now having a gun aimed directly at you wasn't exactly how you had planned to spend your day.

"Call your little lover boy. He'll come to save you, and we'll kill him instead." The gruff man announced. You looked down at your phone, but then shook your head. You would die to protect James, and though James always got mad at you for it, he secretly loved how much you cared for him. The man raised his gun, and sent it crashing into the side of your head. Blood danced down the side of your head, and your body fell to the ground, painfully. The sound of expensive shoes came running towards your lumped up figure, and two voices you recognized.   


"BOSS, STOP!" Sebastian, obviously. You two had never quite gotten along, he liked that you made James more human, but he also was bisexual and had a thing for him. If you died, there would be no love loss there.

"HOW BLOODY DARE YOU, YOU INSIGNIFICANT INSECT!" James roared, tackling the man to the ground, and removing the gun from his hand. He punched him once, breaking his nose, twice, sending teeth down his throat, and three times, his eye immediately swelling shut. Sebastian pulled James off the beat man.   


"PUT ME DOWN MORAN! I'LL SKIN HIM! HOW DARE HE TOUCH EVEN A SINGLE HAIR ON HER! THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH HER! I'LL KILL HIM MYSELF!" James struggled in Sebastian's grip as you began to stand up. You grabbed your phone and snapped the photo, without either of them even realizing it.

"Boss, you don't get your hands dirty, come on, let's let Julian handle him." James still struggled in the larger man's grip, his legs flailing as he was lifted up and off the ground.    


"I DON'T CARE! I WILL HAVE TO MAKE AN EXCEPTION FOR THIS SON OF A-" You fell back to the ground, not realizing how weak you truly were, with a thud. James froze in Sebastian's arms. Seeing James was no longer fighting, Sebastian set him down, and he immediately fell to you.   


"Y/n!" You laughed at his panic as his fingers cleared stray locks of h/c from your face, before deciding to examine the cut left by the gun. His face contorted with worry as light amounts of crimson began streaming from the thin wound, about the size of the side of a two pence. Truly, you were just fine, but seeing him this worked up was sweet.   


"I'm fine. Drugged, but fine." You laughed, and he joined you lightly as he picked you up. He clutched you tightly to his chest, periodically kissing your forehead and the top of your head.    


"Let's get you home, shall we?" And with that, he carried you to his usual black Lyonheart K.

_That's all that really matters,_ **  
**

_I was a fool_

**~Flashback Ends~**

You skimmed through the travel photos of you and him. Paris had been amazing, the eiffel tower dinner was certainly something to remember. You had to admit that the Broadway performance was probably your favorite. The f/c dress he'd gotten you was like something from a daydream. The gorgeous J. Mendel dress fit perfectly, and had to be at least 10.000 quid. Not that it would've seemed like a lot to the man who wears only 5.000+ pound suits, with 3.000+ leather oxfords, and probably 500 for his hair products. Plus the nearly 200 (dollars, not pound) tie. Not to mention the visit to his home of Dublin, where he showed you all his favorite things growing up. It had been fun seeing all of the beautiful sights, and finding out everything you could ever wish to know about him. The last place before returning home to London was Japan. He hadn't planned it originally, but your love for Japanese anime, candies, and, well, in simple terms, how much of a weeaboo you were, made him spontaneously decide to add another leg on the adventure. You, of course, assumed this was all just one big happy birthday (which was still really odd considering the year before he simply made dinner and then you binged Supernatural together). And of course, you were wrong, because when you got back home, another surprise was waiting for you.

**~Flashback~**

_Baby, we built this house,_

_On memories_

James held you closer than ever before. He wasn't one for physical contact, which made the last few days all the crazier. Sebastian thought it was adorable how he cradled the top half of your body, holding you close to his chest from behind you. His head leaned protectively against your cheek, as he smiled like an idiot. That entire night he seemed to be trying his best to make one everlasting memorable night. Obviously, it wasn't just because it was your birthday. The past few days in general had seemed like some kind of dream. Paris? New York? Italy, Ireland and Spain? Japan? The entire time he had been very protective of you, and seemed to throw all his 'I don't like physical contact' rules out the window. It was odd, but whenever you brought it up, he just said "Darlin' relax, everything's fine. I just love you, that's all." It was always followed by a kiss your temple, with a forced laugh, and followed by a reassuring hug. Which wasn't reassuring, considering he hated hugging, and similar contact . Yet, y ou decided to ask one last time.   


"James, what's going on with you lately? You seem different, I'm not complaining, but I am worried about you." He looked at you solemnly, and took your hand in his, giving you a forced smirk. He brought your petite hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, before rubbing them gently with his thumb.   


"What is going on, is me memorizing every aspect of you while I still can. I love you. Never forget that." His hand timidly found it's way to your cheek, spinning you towards him. The look in his eyes was starry, and it was something he'd always refused to outwardly show, before about four days ago. You were worried sick, but it melted as he gingerly pressed his lips to yours, favoring the simple feeling of your glossy lips against his before he started the dance you'd became a costumed to.

 

**~Flashback Ends, Moriarty's POV~**

Sebastian walked into the flat, carrying a small bag of groceries, but immediately dropped them and raced upstairs. I assumed he heard something that worried him. He always was so jumpy. I snuck a glance up to the tangled h/c hair of her, and realized she was slightly crouched over. I shrugged lightly, not very worried, nor particularly concerned. She wasn't exactly one I would think to cry over spilt milk, or even blood, for that matter. She had been dating me, after all. I calmly crossed the street, semi-obsessing over what would happen. Taking a steadying breath, I decided to just walk in (it is technically my flat, after all), but paused at the door, making sure I looked alright. I picked up the bag, and opened the first door, shutting it behind me, and walked up the stairs to the penthouse-flat that I had once shared with my love and my best friend. I prepared to make some grandesque entrance, but the moment I stepped into the lounge, my heart broke. Every little string that kept the pieces together, snapping apart. Those little connections that you work so hard to build and keep together, absolutely disintegrating. Sebastian was kissing her. On the day I died. All the trust I put in him, and this is what he does when I die. He makes a move on my girlfriend, someone he knows I love more than anything, and he had the gall to seduce her, romance her, because I wasn't in his way. I immediately dropped the bag, rage and shock fighting for dominance. After a few, what felt like hours but was probably only seconds, they broke the kiss, staring into each other's eyes, but Sebastian's eyes fell to me. I wanted to kill him. Could I kill him? I was going to kill him.

"B-Boss?" His voice was hoarse and afraid, as it should be. As it should be. I would rip him limb from limb.

_ I wish I could believe _

_ You'd never wrong me _

**~Third Person POV~**

Tears ran from your eyes, that was two days before he did it. You picked up a blade stashed at the bottom of the box, and twiddled it, considering. It was hard not to consider the thought of just doing it... Joining him. When Sebastian came home, he immediately pulled the blade from your cold hands, and you into his chest. It wasn't the first time a situation like this had arose, yet it still burned him to see it. He tossed the blade carelessly to the ground, just trying to get it out of your reach. The pain in his eyes was unreal. Like those of a kid who just found out their pet died. You almost felt bad... Sebastian loved you, and you loved him, sure, but he would always be second fiddle to James. The same went for you, but it was understandable.That man, he had stolen many hearts, but you two got the VIP seats to his life. That being said, it made it even harder for the both of you. You would always love James way more, and Sebastian knew that. He knew the only reason you two were together was because you missed the psychopath, and you knew that before James died, you and Sebastian couldn't stand each other. James had brought you together, but he had to tear you apart to do it. What hurt the most, was there would be little things Sebastian would say or do, that just completely reminded you of James, and no matter the setting or ambiance, you'd break down.

"No, love. He wouldn't want to see you do that, you know that. He loved you, and I know it hurts, but you can't do that. If not for yourself, nor me, then for him, alright?" Sebastian comforted, and you nodded, sobbing into his chest. It would be a lie to say these moments were few and far between, but at least it happened vise versa, as well. Sebastian was just as broken as you after the shot rang out. He had seen it all through his scope, and it broke him nearly as much as it broke you. You picked your head up, and he pulled you close, thumb and forefinger cradling your chin. He pulled your face closer to his, pale lips softly pressing onto yours. His scruffy blonde hair tickling your forehead, as he tilted his head into a more comfortable position. You pulled your arms around his neck, and neither of you even noticed the sound of the door opening and closing from your spot on the lounge's sofa. These moments had honestly kept you both together. You also didn't hear the sound of oxfords clicking as steps came in through the door, or groceries dropping to the floor. Sebastian kept you alive. He kept you happy when you needed James the most. You pulled away, keeping your foreheads touching, and you smiled gantly at him, but he seemed to be looking straight behind you. The odd look of fear and having his breath stolen from him by whatever unexpected thing was behind you. He lifted his head from yours, and you furrowed your brow in confusion as he continued to stare behind you.   


_ Baby, we built this house _

_ On memories _

"B-Boss?" He asked faintly, and you nearly didn't hear it. You couldn't believe your ears. The rising feeling of hope like smoke sprouting from the fire beginning to burn in your heart once more. You started to turn around, hoping to see James standing there, ready to put you back together for real. Not the duck-tape and staples Sebastian fix, but the James fix. The 'I'll love you like you've never felt the pain' fix. You didn't even get to turn around, before James had moved to Sebastian, pinning him to a wall in jealous rage. You yelped.  


"Boss! Stop!" He begged, more concerned for you than himself. Violence was never something you could stand, and you had difficulty suppressing the utter terror digging a pit into your stomach.   


"Why? So you can be some bloody hero? I should skin you! How dare you?!" He continued to rant, as you processed what was happening. James had faked his death... He let you believe he was dead for three years... Let you ponder the idea of suicide to free yourself from the nightmare of living without James... He left you. For three years, while you wallowed in sorrow, grief and pain, he was alive. He was alive, and he just waltzed around doing whatever he felt like! You wanted to scream, shout, tell him to get the hell out!    


"You bastard." Was all that came out, as you dropped all the photos onto the floor. In a moment of clarity and pain, James dropped Sebastian. He turned to you, not the one he loved three years ago, but the broken girl that he barely recognized. You reflected him when he lost you, and he almost couldn't believe what he was seeing. Your usual h/c hair was tangled and messy, face red and puffed up from hours of crying. Your clothes weren't even yours. A pair of sweatpants, a size or two too big, and a stained grungy sweater that hung much to big over your form. Your e/c eyes were glossy, and sunk deep into your head, dark circles hung from your red, tired eyes. it pained him, a stabbing feeling plagued his head and heart.   


_ And when your fantasies, _

_ Become your legacy _

"W-What?" He whispered, as he looked at you with tortured eyes. You couldn't even see this, due to the tears in your own distorting the image in front of you, much like patterned glass would do.   


"I said," Your voice suddenly came back to you in a fit of rage, "YOU BASTARD! I LOVED YOU! YOU LEFT ME TO DIE! YOU LET ME THINK YOU WERE DEAD! DO YOU EVEN CARE WHAT WE WENT THROUGH? OH-WAIT! NO! OF COURSE NOT!" Sobs escaped your lips every few words, but the hiccups were constant, "BECAUSE YOU'RE THE GREAT JAMES MORIARTY! The bloody king!" You couldn't keep shouting, your voice crumbling like tower walls. James looked around him, finally realizing the change in scenery. Yes, you'd started dating Sebastian, but he was living in James' shadow. Pictures once hung from every wall, filling the now blank and empty space. A glimpse down the hall could tell anyone what they wanted to know about which rooms were used. The door to the one you once shared was closed, and it didn't take a genius to figure out it hadn't been opened in a long while. Two room doors were open, obviously one was yours, the other Sebastian's. Photos of James and you littered the floor, but that wasn't what caught his attention. What caused his heart to twist in a painful agony. The blade. Not only that, but it was a blade with dried blood on it. He walked cautiously up to you, eyes not leaving it. He pulled your arm up, and you tried to thrash it from his grip. He didn't deserve to see what he had done. Didn't deserve to see the mess he made, how much grief his death had on you. Despite your struggles, his tight grip remained.   


"LET GO OF ME! WHY DO YOU EVEN WANT TO SEE?" You screamed, and Sebastian moved to try and stop him, but James spoke before he could. You couldn't tell if he was upset, or angry, but he was one of them. It was also hard to tell who the feelings were directed towards.   


"Don't even dare, Moran." Sebastian stopped dead in his tracks, eyes apologetic. James already knew what he had done, why did he need to see? It was ridiculous, but even as you began clawing on his arms, pounding your free hand on it in attempt to make him release you. But his grip didn't stir.

"I need to know how many times I wasn't there when you needed me to be." You stopped. And stared at him, tears finally clearing away as you took notice of the ones brimming in his eyes. He forced the sleeve of your shirt up, and swallowed hard before looking to the wounds. A gasp escaped his lips as he stared at the blanketed skin. His eyes wide in disbelief. He pulled the other one up, holding both wrists in one large hand. You both stared at your arms, as he jerked the other sleeve up. His eyes moved to look at you for confirmation that this was real, but you stared blankly down at the scars.  


"Why would you do this?" His voice shook, and he seemed upset. You didn't answer. He struggled to grasp any reason, any motive to hurt yourself in any way, shape, or form.    


_ Take my picture now, _

_ Shake it til you see it _

"WHY?!" He begged, getting louder. You didn't even flinch. Sebastian, on the other hand, did. He was struggling to keep his breath in line, as it simply didn't want to follow his commands to be steady. Keeping his emotions in check had never been a strong suit for him.   


"Because you left her! You left all of us! Why? So you could win at some stupid game?!" Sebastian was fury. Equally as angry about James ditching you both, as he was about the pain in you. Sebastian always had such a big heart, but it seemed every time it broke it was James' fault, and he was sick of it.   


"I would've never left her for a game! How dare you? I left because of this!" James pulled a folder out of his bag, throwing it haphazardly at the sniper. He pulled your face up to look into his eyes. fingers dancing gently across your skin and placing the loose strands of hair back into their rightful places, his dark chocolate eyes glistening into yours. The fingers of his left hand drug slowly down your cheek.   


_ Promise me a place _

"I'm so sorry. I love you, but to keep you safe, I had to. I am so, so sorry." He was practically begging, as Moran picked up the photos in the file. All of them were of you, looking like they were from a stalker. There were a few of you and James, and it was evident you were a couple; as you talked and laughed, even kissed in some. He picked up the folder to the file, and saw it had the MI6 logo on it. Mycroft had found you. Sebastian started connecting pieces.   


"I understand if you don't want me anymore, but I love you. I will spend every second of my worthless life protecting you, even if you do choose Sebastian. I will complete- " Sebastian knew it was coming, but James didn't. You cut him off by forcing your lips to his. It was the thing you missed most. You pulled him closer to you, letting your lips melt into his as he dropped his hands to your waist/hip area. Tears rolled down both your cheeks, and when you separated, he looked more broken than ever. Even more so than when he thought he lost you. Or when you were kidnapped, or even before he knew he would have to leave to protect you.   


"I'm never leaving again. I promise." That's all you needed to hear.

**_In your house of memories_ **

 


	3. Late Nights [John/Reader]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JohnxMoriarty's sister!Reader watching a horror movie, little John and Moriarty moment towards then end if you want to read that.

The whirring of the chainsaw slicing through the air, the young woman's screams as she begs to be spared! It was absolutely delicious! A small smile tugged at your lips as you saw the scene unfold. The killer had quite the talent with the weapon, chainsaws are very difficult to control. You stuffed more popcorn in your face, not bothering to check on the very terrified John. The American movie didn't bother him so much, not as much at how much you enjoyed it, at least.    


"Love, you realize people are being murdered here, right?" He gently placed a hand on your back, alerting you to your creepy behavior. You turned your head to face him, lips a straight line as you carefully considered your words and previous actions.   


"Well, yeah, but it's just a movie, John." You turned all your attention back to the killer taking the woman's life. When he suggested you both watch a scary movie, he expected a light gore, more haunted-house feel, with you curled up in his arms. Not you cheering on a mass murderer as he sliced women who fit your description into tiny little pieces.   


"But it's based off a real event..." He said after a long pause. You internally groaned. It was bound to happen at some point, there was no point in believing otherwise, but he couldn't have waited until the movie was over?   


"Yeah, and they caught the guy. Don't you feel the adrenaline pumping, John? Can't you feel it? Isn't it amazing?" You laughed a bit at the end, never bothering to turn towards him. Yeah his adrenaline was pumping. He was sitting next to a psychopath watching a horror film. He decided to shut up for a bit, and continue the movie as if you weren't crazy. It was coming up to the climax scene, where the killer gets caught, and you seemed anxious, sad even. Further proving John's fears.   


"NO! Stupid woman! Run down the alley, and cross through Partimer Drive! Don't take the long way! He's faster than you! Maybe you deserve to die, thin out the idiots in the world!"  He turned to you in a sudden state of shock as you cursed the woman. As you predicted, she was torn to shreds, and as he left, the killer dropped his wallet.   


"AGH! ROOKIE MISTAKE! NEVER BRING ANY FORM OF ID WHEN KILLING SOMEONE! That's how you get caught,  **stupid** !" You slumped into the couch, arms crossed at his disobedience. John's fear-filled eyes stared at you, trying to see the lovely woman he had fallen for. It wasn't hard, you were a sweet person, just had a few 'cliché' issues here and there. One being this.   


"Um, y/n? Love? Calm down, we want him to get caught, remember?" He rubbed your back lightly, pulling his other arm a crossed him to take your free hand. This wasn't something he'd suggest again any time soon.   


"First he doesn't wear gloves, then he drops his wallet? What kind of idiot makes those mistakes?!" You threw your arms out in an exasperated motion. You finally looked at John, who was clearly terrified with your recent behavior, causing to reflect on everything. You tried so hard to be normal. It was difficult for you. Like your brother, you were a genius of many levels, but unlike him, you felt things. Yes, he cared for you dearly. Sometimes you were the only thing he cared about, and when he found out you were in love with John, he was pissed, but he wanted you to be happy. So he looked the other way. But sometimes those things he taught you growing up were hard to forget.    


"You act as if you know first hand." He reminded you. He knew who you were, and he also knew this isn't what you wanted to be. What he didn't realize, was that movies like these had been what you and your brother binge watched for days on end, not only correcting the victims' choices, but things like the killer's form, and their tactics. Thing is, you did know first hand.   


"I know, John, I'm sorry. I got carried away." You leaned into his arms, ignoring the final scenes of the movie playing out. He twisted his fingers in your pristine-as-always hair, letting them dance, and make tangles in the otherwise perfect locks. You picked up a lot from your brother, one being, looks are everything. From your posture to your clothes, everything screamed bold and confident. Expensive clothes, hair always done with just the right amount of product and fixing, not to mention always standing tall despite being short compared to the infamous detective. John held you tightly, his fear turning to guilt. He knew it wasn't your fault, yet here he was scolding you for it. He was just so used to you acting like everyone else, normal.    


"I'm sorry, love. I know you didn't mean it like that. Old habits die hard, but it's what makes you, you. And I love you, just the way you are." He kissed the top of your head, careful to avoid being head butted again. You squeezed tighter, clutching onto him for dear life. The credits rolled through the screen, and you both just sat there, blissfully unaware of the world around you, until you mistakenly drifted to sleep on the sofa in his arms. Looks like you'd be staying there tonight. John carefully spread out your form on the couch as he laid across it. He was careful not to wake you. It didn't take long for him to drift to sleep either, one arm protectively around your waist, the other clutching the back of your head to his chest. He was a soldier protecting his love. He always would.

* * *

  
  
The annoying ringtone your brother had insisted on screamed in the darkness. Careful not to disturb you, John reached for it. He knew how little you slept at your brother's. It wasn't that you were afraid or anything, no, he was just loud. Always screaming for no reason. It was annoying, and caused many sleepless nights. John flipped the phone on, answering his call.

  
"WHERE ARE YOU?! I'VE BEEN CALLING AND WAITING FOR HOURS!!" He screamed, causing John to flinch. He didn't like talking to him, but John wanted you to rest. He took a deep breath.

  
"She fell asleep, she's fine. Didn't realize she'd need your permission to stay the night." He didn't know if it was the grogginess, or the protectiveness that gave him the incentive to be bolder than he typically would. He heard a growl erupt from the other side of the line, as if he was considering what to do, who to make pay.   
"I STILL HAVE YET TO SEE WHAT MY DARLING SISTER SEES IN YOU!" Same song, different verse. It always went like this, the few times him and John were forced to communicate.   
"I still have yet to see how she's related to you, but at least here she can actually rest." John forced the fear of the man aside, trying to convince himself he would never harm him. Not when his sister was in love with him.   
"I'd bite your tongue! Fine. She can stay. But you so much as touch her, and I will personally sssssskkiinn you alive!" The man on the other line threatened, his dark tone only becoming darker. John gulped once, but stood his ground.   
"Will do. Bye, Moriarty." John snapped, ready to fall back asleep. Moriarty simply hung up, not another word. He must've been more pissed off than usual. Oh well. John placed the phone on the coffee table once more, and returned to his original position, falling back into a deep sleep.


	4. Happy New Year, Mycroft Holmes! [Mycroft/Reader]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft's New Years Party

You prepared only about a hundred different types of wine, cheese and crackers. Meeting Mycroft's family was NOT something you were prepared to do, and you definitely wished you'd had more warning than a grumbling Mycroft to come in, and, after you asked what was wrong, tell you Sherlock and his parents decided to drop by for the New Year. He then proceeded to roll up into a ball while you made preparations for their arrival. You wanted them to like you. Easier said than done, especially since they were related to Mycroft. Not that you minded Mycroft; You loved him, even if he could be quite the downer with terrible timing. But at least he liked you, cared about you-- Hell! He loved you! His family, on the other hand, if they were anything like Mycroft, it'd be hard to get them to have even a marginal appreciation that you made Mycroft happy. And you were pretty damn positive they were like him. You'd seen Sherlock in the papers. Mycroft and Sherlock, well, they were the same. For the most part. Mycroft didn't need to show off to know he was the best, granted, he did it from time to time, but what you read about the famous detective, it was near constant. Just about the time you finished setting up a decent celebration, you heard Mycroft finally get up from the sofa.    
"I don't see the need for all this. It is likely my parents will have a celebration following them like the plague!" His exasperated tone was expected, but the comment itself was confusing.   
"Because, Myc, I want them to like me." You felt no need to give a further explanation, thus you didn't give one. Mycroft's nose scrunched up, and it almost seemed like you had appalled him.   
"I don't see why that matters in the slightest." That was what he had to say? It didn't matter? Of course it mattered! These were his parents! If the time ever did arise that you two were to wed (heaven forgive), they would be yours, too! Them hating you was NOT an option, how could he be so democratic about this?!   
"Mycroft! This is your family we're talking about! And I'm--I don't even know if this is the correct term, but-- I'm your, as a normal person would say, girlfriend! Them hating me would be like a curse on our relationship!" His eyebrows furrowed together, his lips set into a tight line, and he said absolutely nothing. At least he was thinking about it, considering-   
"I do believe girlfriend is the correct term, but according to Britain, we've lived together for several years now, and if my calculations are correct, in one month and fourteen days, you would legally be considered my 'wife'." He said it so factually, and monotone, you almost forgot he was referencing your relationship. He wasn't wrong; In about that time, you'd be legally considered married, but that wasn't the point.    
"SERIOUSLY, MYCROFT?! THAT'S WHAT YOU'VE GOT TO SAY?!" You slumped into a random chair, arms crossed in front of you. He seemed at a point where he didn't even know where to begin with figuring out what he did wrong, but he knew he obviously had.   
"What ever do you mean, dearest?" The nickname made your heart flutter. For a second you were caught astray, but then it struck you. The little bastard did that on purpose! Before you had time to tell him off for using such an advantage over you, the bell rang. Mycroft groaned as he looked at the door, and before he went to answer it, he kissed your cheek.   
"Prepare for an east wind," he whispered, "for this is truly going to be hell." And he left it at that, and went to see who was on the other side of the dark oak door. You could feel the anxiety nipping at your stomach as Mycroft opened the door. To your surprise, however, the older couple instantly pulled a reluctant Mycroft into a hug.   
"Mother, father." He addressed clearly in a sense of dismay at their expression of sentiment. Behind them you could see, an equally as uncomfortable, Sherlock Holmes. The older couple playfully tsked Mycroft, as if they were scolding him.   
"You should call more, then we wouldn't need to make these surprise visits!" She allowed Mycroft to take her coat, while you stood, bewildered, at the sight in front of you. His father was the first to notice your presence, and did so while Mycroft apologized and made some excuse about having too much work.   
"And who is this lovely lady?" He turned to his wife, nodding his head back to you as they shared a secretive smile. Stepping out of your trance, you made your way to greet them, smiling at how kind they seemed to be.   
"Excuse me, I'm just a little... shocked, I guess. You're Myc's parents?" You looked between them with wide eyes and a smile as you held out a hand to them. His mum took it, and pulled you into a warm hug, and still held your shoulders as she spoke to you.   
"We are, indeed, dearie! Oh, aren't you gorgeous!" She spoke directly to you before turning her head, acting as if she was being quiet, and whispered, "Better capture this one while you still have the chance!" She turned you around, the older couple doting on you while you giggled at Mycroft's embarrassment. They led you to the sofa, each of them holding one of your arms.   
"So are you Mycroft's girlfriend, then?" She asked, seeming almost as bewildered by you as you had been her, "I don't see any other reason why you'd be here, so I naturally just assume-" You laughed at her bubbly personality, and how she acted so dramatically.   
"Yes, I've actually been living here for awhile now." You mentioned as you beamed at the older woman. She nearly fainted.   
"You here that, Greg? She's his girlfriend! One who lives with him!" They seemed completely infatuated with it, and unbelievably excited, while Mycroft just seemed uncomfortable in general. Sherlock was looking you over with a careful eye, face scrunched up, just like his brother did, and you finally saw the family resemblance.   
"I didn't know you were dating. She's been living here for awhile now, surprised you didn't bring her to Christmas." He commented, before heading off to who knows where. Mycroft seemed hostile towards his brother's comment as he closed the door.   
"She didn't need to be burdened with that, Sherlock." He sent back, talking a bit louder so his brother would hear.   
"Oh no, next time, please burden me!" You enthralled, an overwhelming eagerness to see these lovely two again rising. Mycroft gave a small grunt of recognition before going back to the dining, and placing his head in his hands while you chatted with his parents. Sherlock eventually decided to pick more fun at his older brother.   
"Interesting that you've never even mentioned her, considering that she'll pretty soon be your wife." The remark rand to the sitting room, and his parents jerked up. They'd noted you'd been living their for awhile, since Sherlock's comment, but they never imagined you'd been there for that long. Mycroft almost seemed injured by it, but it could've been your imagination.   
"Well, legally, anyways." He added, a sly smirk pulling to his lips as he realized he'd won. By this time, Mycroft was gripping the edge of his seat so hard, that had it been glass it would've shattered into dust.   
"I do believe that's none of your concern, Sherlock." He hissed at his junior. You saw the situation was quickly turning sour, realizing equally as quickly that there was truly nothing you could do.   
"Huh. Maybe when I asked if I'd caught you in a compromising position or exercising, I was wrong to assume the latter." He continued to push, and you knew all too well Mycroft was getting far too close to the edge.   
"I'd sure hope not!" You tried to alleviate the tension, but your small joke only went noticed by the parenting Holmes. Mycroft completely ignored Sherlock's commentary, but looked even more peeved than before.   
"It's interesting, wouldn't you say? To preach zero sentiment, then hide away a girlfriend all these years? 'Alone protects you, Sherlock', isn't that what you said?" Mycroft was ready to blow a fuse, and you could visibly see it. You needed something, anything, to preoccupy him long enough to calm down.   
"Mycroft!" You said it before you even had formulated a genuine plan, by it drew his attention from Sherlock, at least, "I- uh- Where's do you keep the champagne?" He looked at you a bit startled, and a bit oddly.   
"For the countdown, I mean." His brow furrowed, trying to remember if any 'code words' were being used. Huffing in total annoyance, you walked over, took his hand, which he immediately tried to pull back.   
"Mycroft Holmes, I swear!" You hissed in a low voice. The same one that undoubtably terrified him every time he'd heard it. Suddenly, he was up, and following you to the kitchen. And pretty soon after, he was complaining about Sherlock while you looked for the bubbly.   
"I cannot comprehend how I have been be saddled with him as a younger sibling! Can you believe how he treats everything as if it were snide to him? He's a vex! Completely vile!" You swore he was getting worse by the minute. Yet, you listened, letting him vent his every frustration.   
"Myc, calm down." You instructed after his second long-winded rant. He looked at you, obviously still quite peeved but didn't show a trace of it.   
"He's messing with you. Screw some childish feud, and hostilities! If anything, you are being completely unfair and ill towards him! Just let it go!" He was completely taken aback by your outburst, but you'd had enough, "For bloody's sakes, Mycroft! The only reason your upset is because he's being truthful and you don't want to admit it! Stop being so intransigent, and accept that what he's saying is fact, but also that you're allowed to dictate your life as you see fit!" He tried to find words for a few seconds, but for once, his vast dictionary wasn't helping him any. Despite your hushed tone, a bystander who'd gone unobserved could hear every word clearly. And he almost felt... guilty. Sherlock hurried back to the dining to wait the moment Mycroft had leaned down and pecked you on the lips.   
"Thank you. I... needed that." He admitted, and your smile returned as you took his hand, and a bottle of champagne, and lead him back to the small party. You set the bottle on the table, giving Sherlock a quaint smile, which (to your surprise) he returned, before rejoining their parents in front of the telly. Mycroft just went back to his seat at the table, checking a few emails on his mobile while Sherlock attempted to find the correct words.    
"She isn't a complete goldfish. I see how you're attracted to her... has a certain charm, I believe is the word." His speech came out cracked, as if he'd never said anything remotely as nice to his brother with even an ounce of the same sincerity. Mycroft's gaze immediately locked on Sherlock, and as he exhaled, both turned to face you chatting with their parents about whatever-they-felt-was-important-enough-to-talk-about. Mycroft couldn't help but smile at how you spoke about each matter, such passion glowing in your eyes, but with each opinion, the facts to clearly support it. No matter how small the subject may be.   
"Yes, undoubtedly has a special charm." The evening went on without another hitch, all the way until the clock was set with only a minute to the New Year. You sat perched on Mycroft's lap (something neither of you were used to, but his parents had insisted you not be so shy), waiting for the clock to return to absolute zero on the time. Of course, Mycroft's always impeccable timing beat anyone to the punch when he suddenly turned your face towards him, connecting your lips with his in a much less chaste kiss than he'd ever given you before. One, that started with only seconds to go until midnight, and ended a minute into the new year. He stared at you, completely unknowing of what to do while his breathing was clearly straining him, still needing to catch up with him.   
"I said it before, and I meant it, screw hostilities and feuds; It's a completely New Year, Myc. And in one month, and thirteen days, I'll legally be your wife. You ready, Holmes?" You ended with a sly wink, and he seemed to consider it, looking between your eyes, somehow still trying to search for the answer.   
"I dare say I am."


	5. Christmas Carol [Reader Choice; Mycroft, Sherlock, Moriarty]

Today had been exhausting. Being caught in between three amazingly handsome geniuses sounds great, but all they do is fight. And all they want is for you to choose. One, it isn't fair to have to decide what side you want to be on, and lose your friends from the other. Two, it you did happen to 'choose' one of the brothers, things would be more tense than thy already are, which makes the obvious choice the outlier that isn't related to either. But, as third would have it, he was trying to kill one of the others, your friend. Plus he was a devil. A handsome devil, but a devil nonetheless. You slumped into the sofa in your office, hoping you didn't have another wave of texts awaiting you. Wishful thinking.   


  
**From Mad Hat Detective;**  
You can't actually feel this is a choice! **Mycroft is be-hassling, and Moriarty's insane! Come on, y/n! Think! I love you, does that mean nothing to you?**  
SH  
  
From Queen and Country;  
Consider your options wisely, dearest.  
Sherlock, childish to the extreme, and Moriarty's likely trying to use you. I care about you, please weigh your choices carefully. ~M. Holmes  
  
From Moriparty;  
Look. I don't have any argument on why you should choose me or any of that bs. 

**But I do care deeply for you... Love you, y/n. Well, that's all I got. -King JM**

****  
  
You just weren't sure. Hearing Sherlock of all people say he loved you was insane enough, but Mycroft as well within the next twenty minutes? Then Moriarty (bless the poor man's heart) seemed to be breaking as he heard this. It was insanity. The whole lot of them claimed to never hold sentiment, to not have a heart. Yet, here they were, handing them to you. 

And you had to let two of them fall to the ground, and smash in a million pieces. Two of your friends, and it'd be all your fault. Sherlock was more or less everything you dreamed of in a husband when you were a little girl, but he was using unrelated topics to make himself look better. Plus, lately you two's relationship had been pretty good. Not that Mycroft was doing much different, but the elder Holmes and you had some pretty great, funny, adorable memories together. They both were the good guys. Heroes, even. Then there was Jim. You'd known him longer than either Holmes, not by much, but still. He didn't even try to accuse the others of not being good enough. He told you how he felt, and just left the decision up to you. Though, he wasn't exactly subtle with it, when he promised that, if you had decided you loved him, he'd never let anything happen to you. Saddest part about it was that, with all the two of you had done on talking about the future, you could definitely imagine one with Jim. Plus, his children-wrangling skills were even better than yours. Sheesh. This, all of it, was exhausting.

You needed a nap.

Stretching onto the small love seat/sofa, you let your eyes drift closed. You woke up to someone shaking you lightly. Prying your eyes open, you were met by a batch of fog and two pairs of blue eyes, one pair tinged with green the other grey. A bit startled, you shot up in your place, finally seeing a bit more clearly. 

"John? Seb?" You looked between the two blondes, "What're you guys doing here?" You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, your vision clearing only enough to realize they were handcuffed together.

"What the?-"

"You need to choose between Mycroft and Sherlock. Thy deserve to know who you love!" John fought, before getting elbowed in the side by Sebastian.

"Sherlock, Mycroft, and Moriarty, remember?" He said, voice heated with annoyance and venom. John scoffed, as if the idea were completely ridiculous.

"Why would she love a criminal?" John glared at the much taller soldier, who glared back, his unusual scar overlapping his left eye as always.

"It's possible, she is his friend, too, you know!" They continued to argue while you tried to figure out how fog got into a seventh story office, and why two of your friends were handcuffed together. While you were considering how this was even remotely possible, they started throwing punches at one another. The row became increasingly violent, and you began worrying how you'd get one or both to the hospital without them biting one another's heads off.

"Will you two stop it! Why are you hand cuffed together? What's going on here?" Nothing about this made even remote sense, and it really started to irk you. By some godly force, they both immediately silenced, and turned towards you.

"He is my ball and chains," eerily their voices overlapped, and then they held up the cuffed wrists, "these are my shackles." John took a half-step forward.

"Your past with Mycroft is something you've thought a lot about. So is your present with Sherlock." Sebastian followed suit, still holding a glare to John, and continued without missing a beat.

"And Jim, the future. You need to decide, y/n. You need to decide..." And like that, you were shocked awake, sitting upright in your old uni dorm. Mycroft held both your shoulders, a look of genuine concern in his eyes.

"Y/n? Are you alright?" A strand of f/c hair fell into your eye, and for a second you were on the brink of freaking out. Sophomore year at uni you had streaked your hair, but that was years ago. Mycroft had always been a few years older than you, and you were now accustomed to his current look, but this... this was when Mycroft y was twenty five. He resembled Sherlock in a number of ways, but his straight hair, that was a few shades light than the younger Holmes', and shade darker eyes told you this was undoubtably Mycroft Holmes. 

"Y-Yeah. I-I'm fine." He didn't look convinced, but he shrugged it off and wrapped a few fingers around your wrist and his other hand in your elbow, to help raise you to your feet.

"If you insist. Come on, the block is starting Christmas." He pulled you to your feet, his laid-back pajama pants hanging loosely against his frame, knotted so tight, it looked like the entwining of hundreds of vines into one little ball. His shoulder blades held him up high, and you didn't hesitate to follow him, blushing at the feeling of him holding onto your wrist. He continued to pull you down the hall, all the way to the tree the block had set up, crappy as it may be. When Mycroft sat onto the small love-seat, he pulled you down beside him, both of you waiting for presents to be spread out. Everyone had chosen someone to give a gift to, and you were confident yours was coming from Anthony Convect. His unusual marigold pen had been used to cross out your, and only your, name. As gifts begun being spread, Mycroft handed you a small blue package. Not long after, your rose gold gift was handed to him, which he took the time while other gifts were being handed out to examine it, coming to the conclusion Stephani Jilthew (she was in love with him, poor girl) had given it to him, and it was obviously a book. Soon, everyone was tearing at their presents, all except for you. You carefully undid the wrapping you knew to be Mycroft's from the precise folding, until you reached a thin, rectangular jewelry box. You looked over to Mycroft to find him stunned, about both the false book you'd used to trick him, and the expensive umbrella-patterned tie, and professional 'M. Holmes', in his signature, stamp. He examined the hand written note, and you smiled at him when he looked over to you in confirmation. You returned your gaze to your gift after he looked down, and opened the box to find a silver chain necklace, with an etched amber-designed locket. You let out a soft gasp, as you opened the locker to find a small picture of your parents, and a tiny inscribed note saying; Love doesn't know the bound that is death. It was your locket, the one you'd lost all those years ago, and spent days crying over the broken pieces. You'd lived this day before, everything happened the exact same nine years ago, and yet, you were still as shocked as you were on the Christmas Eve it had happened. The only difference you could see was, a, you swore the wrapping paper had been orange, and b, there was a blue trim around the locket of a jewel you couldn't quite place. You still wished you could've had more days like you did in uni with Mycroft. Then again, those were the days everyone had just assumed you two were dating.

"My god, thank you Myc!" You lifted your head to e greeted with a dramatic change in scenery. It was Sherlock's flat, same tree and decorating from earlier that day. Sherlock watched you, expectingly, through his teal-grey eyes. 

"Well?" You were confused. What exactly was happening here? Not five seconds ago you were back at uni with Mycroft, and now you were in Sherlock's flat?

"Well- what?" You blinked in complete confusion.

"Ah, yes. Sarcasm to fight for tradition, how utterly like you. I've already told you I couldn't wait to give it to you. Just open it already!" His eyes flicked down to the box held in your lap. Carefully unwrapping the tiny red box, trying to figure out where you'd seen the shape before. It struck you right before you finished opening it- it was a ring box. Before you, in your right mind, could process it, you'd already begun saying 'yes'. With a smile stretched across Sherlock's face, he leaned in, kissing you as he slipped the small band, trimmed with audacious rubies, onto your finger. You were so confused, but seemed not to be showing any of it. When the kiss broke, and you finally had the chance, you looked more closely around the flat. To your surprise, there were red decorations where there you had originally put indigo, blue, and teal ones. Sherlock didn't seem to notice how lost you were as he stood you up, and escorted you down the hallway. You didn't even notice you were in his bedroom, you were so lost in thought. The usual beige-grey with silver threading was there, but something was off about it. Lifting it up as Sherlock pulled off his shirt, you nearly gasped at what you saw. Since when was the threading red? You knew it had been silver. You even had to go buy the damn silver thread when you fixed it up for him! Sherlock climbed under the covers, looking at you strangely.

"Are you not going to sleep or something?" Pulled slightly out of your daze, you realized he had the covers open for you, and when you looked down, you saw your f/c nightgown covering you, "Christmas is tomorrow, and we're going to see John early in the morning, remember?" Not knowing what else to do, you slipped in with him, falling asleep to the comforting feeling of his fingers dancing through your hair. He didn't hold you particularly close, just held onto your hand with his right one, letting his left weave the h/c strands.

You woke up to someone mumbling sweet nothings in your ear, holding onto you tightly from behind, lips swiping fire heat over your cheek with each word, and stubble lightly brushing against your jawline. 

"Mornin', love," A heavy Irish accent drawled as your lids lifted, "Merry Christmas." J-Jim? Forcing your eyes to adjust to the morning rays of light, you looked behind you to find a barely-awake consulting criminal laying with you. He smiled slightly through hooded eyes, and brought his lips to yours. The kiss was only a peck, but you knew something was off here. And not just the fact you swore you held fallen asleep at Sherlock's.

"Um, good morning, Jim." He stretched a bit, leaving you aching for the warmth of his body again.

"You know," he wrapped his arms back around you, this time with you huddled into his chest,"if we hurry, we might be able to get coffee before-" his thought was cut off by a fit of giggling throwing itself onto the bed with you two.

"Mum! Da! Father Christmas came!" A tiny voice shouted. One you recognized, too.

"Lukas?" The blue-eyed German orphan looked up at you, smiling brightly as he laughed with Jim. He was in a bowing position, one that looked like a puppy's play stance. He was wearing indigo pajamas (weird because his favorite coloured were pink and green). Jim copied the young boy's look, and then smiled equally as bright

"Well then, we better get to the presents, then." They both sprang from the bed, you quickly scrambling to catch up as they took off down the hall. When you finally caught up to them in the foyer, Jim was holding an upside-down Lukas, swinging him like a grandfather clock. Pretty soon, Lukas was dropped, and immediately went to open the plethora of presents under the large Christmas tree. Looking around, you saw multiple things that were greatly out of place. For one, Jim's prized painting he usually kept safely in a golden frame, which no one was allowed to even suggest a frame-change, was now in a silver-and-indigo frame. Not only that, but there were numerous photos, what largely looked to be family photos, all over the place of you, Jim, and Lukas. Most shocking of all, however, was the center photo on the mantle piece. You were so taken aback, you didn't notice Jim coming to hug you from behind.

"I know, I think you look gorgeous in our wedding photo, too." He pressed a kiss to your cheek as you looked at the photo of yourself in an ivory dress, Jim holding you tightly in front of him, both of you smiling and looking into each other's eyes. You looked back over to Lukas, who was already trying to decide which gift to open first. You knew something was odd, you were just unable to place it at first.

"We adopted Lukas?" You asked, a smile crewing to your face. Jim looked at you a little oddly before he answered.

"Well, yeah. You love that kid, there was no way I wasn't going to raise him with you!" Through his confusion he smiled, and you leaned slightly into his embrace, letting your eyes fall closed to process it all.   
When they opened again, you were back in your office. The sun had set, and your back slightly hurt from the awkward sleeping position.    


Bloody hell, that was a weird dream." You held your head as you thought it over. Though, through that, you knew. You had to decide, but suddenly, you already knew who you loved. Picking up your phone. And scrolling through your contacts, you chose the right one, and sent your message. **  
**

**From You;**  
Meet me @ H. Park, 10 min?  
~Ms.Perfect  


****  
... All that was left to do was wait.   


  
**Sherlock ending;**  
  
From Mad Hat Detective;  
Near my case, anyway. See you there.  
SH

  
  
Pulling on your jacket, and grabbing your purse, you headed out of the office and headed to Hyde Park. Over and over again, you considered what to say. You finally saw Sherlock standing by the frozen over lake, John shivering a few feet away. Continuing your trek a small distance farther, you said his name.

"Sherlock?" He turned to greet you, a look of total nervousness greeting you. Suddenly the words didn't matter. Reaching out, you took his hand in yours, smiling gently at him.

"You should've told me sooner, Sherlock..." His stoic expression faltered slightly at your words and soft, dulcet tone.   


"Because, I love you, too." And that, was all he needed to hear.

**Mycroft;**  
  
From Queen and Country;  
I'll send a car.  ~M. Holmes

  
  
That was definitely a 'Mycroft' move. Reaching the outside of your office building, you immediately saw Mycroft's car waiting for you. As the drive dragged on, you pulled the necklace from your uni Christmas from beneath your shirt. Mycroft knew you better than anyone else. It wasn't a wonder why it was so easy for you to realize you loved him. The car pulled up to the usual parking garage, and you stepped out to find Mycroft already waiting, leaning on his umbrella. His eyes were instantly attracted to your necklace, and it made him smile a bit more.

"I applaud your way of telling me." Of course he'd be able to deduce your little sign. You both smiled for a bit, before he opened the other car's door for you, likely to take you home.

**Moriarty;**  
  
From Moriparty;  
**Of course, see you there.  -King** **JM**

  
  
You rushed down the stairs to the second floor, then to the door labeled 'H. Park MD', you  figured he'd already be there once you got there, but you needed a second to think of what to say. You and Jim had always had this spark, you'd always been able to see you two together. The only thing was his choice of employment. It terrified you, but you loved him. Hell, if you were brace enough to be his friend, might as well. Bracing yourself, you entered the room, and Jim turned around, greeting you with a forced smirk. His deep chocolate eyes made you forget everything you were going to say. Instead, you pulled him down to your level, one hand on the back of his neck, the other on his cheek, and kissed him. You were pretty sure he got the message.   



	6. Past the Point of No Return [Moriarty/Reader]

The music was your partner at the moment. Drawing in and conducting your every move. You sang your parts perfectly with the recorded voice, continuing the movements as if your partner, William had been there. You placed a hand on the shoulder of the nonexistent man, and lifted your hand as if it were in his. It didn't take long for your fantasies to take hold of reality, as soon it wasn't your co-star, but your older brother's boss, the man who owned the house you were currently residing, the most dangerous man on the planet. Those devilish eyes burned into your own, as he whisked you around the room, stopping suddenly, about to have that magical moment for Christine and the phantom. The day-dream was shattered by the clicking of Italian leather on the marble hallway floors. Moriarty. You lunged for your glock, and slid onto your bed, and took it apart, cleaning and examining. Technically, you didn't work for Moriarty, so even if you were caught dancing, there was nothing he could do, it was more of not wanting to explain why you were doing it. The creaking of the hinges alerted you to the presence of the charming villain. You glanced up, but immediately busied yourself with your weapon. The sight of him in that plain black Westwood, his skull-patterned tie, and him, overall, it was too much.  
  
"Hello, James. Going somewhere?" You asked casually, but the pounding of your heart ringing through your ears made it difficult to decipher his answer.   
  


"I'm going on a date this evening, but you also seem to be dressing nicer than usual, what's the occasion?" He asked, annoyed. Seemed you had been doing that alot lately, and to you, it was because you had been always one step ahead recently, which annoyed him. Truth being, he was simply trying to push you away. Away from his mind, as far as possible from his heart. The word 'date' struck you like lightning, quick and painfully. A date? With whom? Was he actually interested in her..? He had tried everything to get your attention, waiting for you to show even the slightest interest, but always nothing. This was his last try, his last heave to push the boulder off the cliff, to see if it quaked the ground below, if it quaked your heart. And oh did your heart quake. It left a deep rift in the base of your heart, the vibrations causing more such cracks to rise to the surface, yet somehow the gentle hills kept the water from the lakes from overflowing and spilling out into the real world.  
  
"I'm going out this evening, I believe it's the reason I informed I'd be missing dinner. If I recall, I informed I'd be out with William tonight." Sure, he had tried to keep you away from his heart, but fact of the matter was, you owned it. Not only that, you abused it. Words like that sent him spiraling downwards, and you neglected to even notice it.   
  
"As long as his middle name isn't Sherlock..." He sang, sending a small smile to your lips. He tried not to let his usual confident smirk falter, but as your eyes gazed away for a bit, trying to think of the words to say, the smirk turned into an expression of emptiness. The hole that had been in his heart for so long had always seemed to fill itself with the gentle toss of your hair, the snarky morning comments most dared not say, and the radiant glow of your reassuring smile.  
  
"I'm not stupid, I don't want to be skinned!" You joked back, and though he laughed, it also hurt. The thought that you even considered the possibility that he'd hurt you. The fact that there was a chance you feared him. You were the one person he didn't want to fear him, and if you did, it would be the final blow. He slunk out and you speedily reassembled your gun. Rolling off your bed, you grabbed the shoes you needed, and your purse, which mainly contained some casual attire, and three well-concealed weapons. You rearranged your tee and leggings, and put the heels in the bag, next to the deep black, high top converse. With everything you needed cramped in your bag, you grabbed your phone from the nightstand, and hopped into your sleek black flats, going over the light skips and twirls in your head. Once at the bottom of the stairs, you noticed a woman, dressed in a very revealing navy dress. It went to about her mid thigh, it almost looked as if it were made from spandex, and it was evident from how the straps laid, the dress wasn't supposed to be that short. Her raven hair with Crimson undertones cascaded down her shoulders like swirls of blood, and she had a tear-drop necklace, that seemed to be made of diamonds. Her ivy eyes paired well with the gorgeous winged eyeliner. She was about your height, but her heels were higher than your flats, so she seemed much taller, about Moriarty's height. He walked in, hair slicked back and those eyes that knew every secret. Every secret, that is, except for yours.   
  
"Ah, Violet, this is y/n, and Ms. Moran, this is Violet Monroe, my date for this evening." You shook the lovely woman's hand, despite wanting to tear it from her arm, and she stared at you with a look of recognition.  
  
"I'm sorry, you just look so familiar... Have you ever done acting? Perhaps in New York?" Her voice was softer than satin, but you nearly froze. Moriarty snorted, deeming the idea ridiculous.   
  
"I have been told I look very similar to an actress, yes, but I'm afraid I don't have the time nor the talent!" You dismissed the woman's thought, "Well, I must be off, I'm expected." You rushed out of there, jealousy and fear pumping through you, to where you didn't know if it was the tardiness making you sprint, or the adrenaline. Your thoughts quickly made their way back to him. Where could he be taking her? Was he... In love with her? He seemed very pleased with taking her out. Was it wrong that you hated her, with everything in you? Forcing the thoughts to halt, you came upon the theatre, and rushed in, quickly getting the dress and heels on, allowing women to do your makeup, and even more to curl and pin your hair.   
  
"You ready?" William's husky voice broke you from daydreams you didn't even realize you were having.  
  
"Oh, yes. Today's the final day, I have to be!" You and William shared a hearty laugh, and he helped you to your feet. On Moriarty's front, he was waiting patiently in the audience, trying to keep his attention on his date, attempting not to let his mind wander to what y/n would've wanted to do. This wasn't really wasn't your type of thing, he'd expect something more... Inspired. You wouldn't want to be in the audience watching people enjoy themselves. You'd be wanting on stage, in the lights. Or anything except sitting around, being bored. The curtain pulled itself up, exposing the set of an Opera house, many singing men and women, but one stuck out. The triple pirouette, much more graceful, yet sharper and stronger, than the identically dressed women, and the flowing, dancing silk trailing her made the idea that she was flying into her leaps all the more believable. She had an aura of familiarity, of being known. He focused in on her, never letting his attention leave her. Suddenly, the dove separated from her flock.  
  
"That's Christine Daaé." Violet felt the need to point it out, he simply nodded, but for the most part, her note was left ignored. He gazed at her like a child at the stars, interested in every minuscule detail. Most of the show went like this, his sense of being connected to her growing to unbelievable heights when seeing her in the slacks of men's wear. What was it about her? Who was she?... It was coming to an end all too soon for him, as 'Past the point of no return' was soon to begin.  
  
Anxiety bit into the root of your stomach, as each beautiful, but almost ear piercing notes of Juliane's high voice echoed throughout the theatre.  
  
Final performance as Christine, the curtain was nearly ready to fall, not much longer, but nerves still manage to twist knots all over. Yet, you had absolutely no clue why. Anxious was never a word to describe how you felt during this scene... Sure, there were butterflies in the beginning, but never this late into the performance. It was... Strange, to say the absolute least. Your cue was almost here, and you no longer had time to think about it.  
  
Your feet lightly slipped into each step, swaying your hips with each motion. Adrenaline pumping through your veins, but you were determined to keep it at bay.  
  
"No thoughts within her head, were thoughts of joy!" Your voice twirled into the rafters of the theatre, as you smile. Strolling into the centre of the stage, completely oblivious to the blinding shine to illuminate your presence. Your curled and pinned hair seemed to sway with the music, as you echoed the next string of notes, "No dreams within her heart, were dreams of love!" You couldn't help thinking about that handsome Irish man, with his large chocolate eyes that you almost always feel right into. That slick black hair, perfect smile. Even if it was a little... Hm, maniacal? Most of all, how much you wished his voice would be saying sweet words to you. Letting that rich accent fill your ears. You focused on the task at hand.  
  
You held each note with soft, flawless precision, and you came to a stop once you hit your mark. Timidly, you fiddled with the blood red rose, soft twirling ringlets caressing your blushing cheeks, that soft rosy colour.  
  
He stayed perched in his seat, beside the woman he had no true interest in, other than to make the woman who sent his heart skyrocketing jealous. Of course, the only one with that feeling was him, when you said you'd also be going out this evening. So, instead, he sat mesmerized by the graceful dancer, as he allowed her voice to lull the feeling of loss, she was oh, so familiar, he just hadn't been able to place it. The actress turned to the audience to continue her song, and that moment, is when it clicked. Like puzzle pieces falling into place, he knew. It was you. That gorgeous woman, with the h/c hair, which danced in the wind, that he always snuck glances of brilliant e/c eyes. That woman, who had stolen his heart, but neglected it, to the point you didn't even know you had it in the first place. He continued to watch, with a sudden nervousness to what he would be witnessing. The story he knew all too well, and he couldn't fathom all the unfamiliar feelings he'd have to experience if he had to witness your lips caressing another's. So, instead, he excused himself.  
  
"So sorry, Violet, but I must excuse myself for a moment." His sultry voice whispered, but he gave no time for her to reply. Simply, he raised himself from his seat, and walked swiftly up the aisle. He managed to maintain his confident posture, and masculine stride, but otherwise, it seemed like he was running from something. The fear of why his heart was accelerating to the point he had reason to fear it popping out at any given moment, filling him like it had so many times before. That fear lead him to push her away. Push you away. But that same curiosity lingered. Of what the feeling could mean, or could hold. Though he'd never admit it, another thing had recently been climbing the ranks for this new feeling; the want. The want to experience all the unique sensations it had to offer. Yet, he still didn't know what to call it. One word echoed from the song; Love. Was it possible? Is this what it felt like? Those thoughts, and those similar raced through his brain as he retreated to the restroom.  
  
He stared into his reflection's nearly-black irises. Counting the passing seconds. He ran his hands wildly through his hair, repetitively leaning against the door, not only for physical, but somewhat emotional support. As if that he hadn't, his entire world would've fallen apart. He finished his counting, which he assumed would give him ample time to miss the lovely woman fall for the man on stage, but, as luck would have it, he counted much too fast. Once his counting had ceased, he quickly slicked his hair back, straightened his skull tie, then flattened his Westwood suit, that matched perfectly with his black as death hair. He strode with purpose back to the theatre, heaving the stone-wall like doors open, then immediately returning to his seat, thoughts of her smile distracting his presence.  
  
The silent click that shouldn't even brought an effect to you for it was so quiet, seemed to catch you off guard for a small moment as it drew you to the need to look up. To vanquish your curiosity. Mainly, because no one had left the theatre...  
But you managed to only look up when meant to. The Phantom's shadowed eyes reflected into your own, and his dark mask that pearled with starry figures and gleams in the glistening light from the theatre's spotlights, finding a sense of calm as he slowly strides towards your angelic figure, eyes completely entranced  by the vision that was you. But something seemed to pull your focus away, simply speaking, you couldn't stay in the moment... The dream of the man, the fantasy of when you strolled into the opera house stage as you took cue. The longing for it to be his chocolate vaults you were staring into, for it to be his ebony hair that was meant to be hidden, but purposefully wasn't.  
  
In that moment, you relationship evaded you, but you knew you were close. Just not close enough. Reality again came crashing through, pulling you to it's truths, as you were suddenly, but also gently, tackled into a strong, warm, meaningful embrace. One muscular arm firmly around your waist, holding you to your partner's sturdy frame, before his hands slipped up your body as his fingertips danced lightly up your arms as he sang his lines.  
  
"What raging fire shall flood the soul? What rich desire unlocks its door? What sweet seduction lies before us?" With an aura of gentleness, he took hold of your soft hand as he serenaded, before he delicately placed a kiss on the back of the same hand. Your costume could be considered, to most, a tad revealing, and nothing short of sexy. The only modest piece of the ensemble being the shawl, that brought out your eyes quite nicely, covering your bare shoulders and that wee bit of cleavage that your off-the-shoulder dress didn't cover. You carefully, and gracefully, took your hand from his grasp, spinning away from him, clutching it to your chest as if it were the very key to your heart, one that you couldn't trust anyone with. Oh, how you wished James would take it, you didn’t care if he burnt your heart down. You just wanted him to accept his place in it.  
  
"You have brought me to that moment where words run dry." You let each word bring every person to the edge of their seat. Your mind wandered, without consent, to that mysterious man. He took the words from your mouth, kept you in the dark of every emotion he may have. Just the mere memory of him made it almost impossible to speak...  
  
"To that moment when speech disappears into silence..." You took another timid step away, eyeing him with both love and caution, "I have come here, hardly knowing why!..." He took his seat next to Violet, once again, and she immediately held onto his hand. She brought it to her chest, using it like a safety blanket to hold the tears in her eyes at bay. The pure romance of the scene was enough to bring any woman to her knees in envy and pity. The silk, ominous voice of the phantom rang true in his ears, the stage finally capturing his attention.  
  
"What raging fire shall flood the soul? What rich desire unlocks its door? What sweet seduction lies before us?" Horror filled his gaze as the man took her petite hand lovingly into his gloved ones, holding it like one gently holds a dove, just enough to grasp, but sure not to harm. He rose it to his lips, sending a fit of anger through the criminal. He took notice of how the gown flaunted your every perfection, and the shawl seemed to bedazzle your eyes.  Her hand suddenly threw itself from his grasp in a soft, yet harsh way, and immediately pulled itself close, protecting the secret she held so close. From the pain that surely followed, had she fallen in love with him.  
"You have brought me to that moment where words run dry." Her notes swam through  the theatre, sending shivers throughout, at the thought of the meaning that those simple words could hold.  
  
"To that moment when speech disappears into silence..." The pitying feeling for the phantom shocked even himself. Trying to reveal this mystery that not even he knew to her, only for her to continue adding layers for them both to uncover.  
"I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why!..." He knew every heartbreak the phantom had known throughout the story. How did Phantom's story end? He lost her...  
  
A shy, but secretly sly, smirk played onto your vibrantly painted Crimson lips as you sang the, rather, implying lines.

  
"In my mind, I've already imagined our bodies entwining- defenseless and silent. Now I am here with you, no second thoughts.. I've decided. Decided..." You willed your e/c eyes to remain locked on the masked man, as you sneakily and teasingly, showed a small bit of leg through the slit in the long, flowing skirt of your costume. The warmth of the stage lights and the heat of your shawl burned your skin as your lungs allowed a relieving breath to fill them.   
  
"Past the point of no return. No going back now! Our passion play has now, at last, begun!" And it was in that fateful moment when you realized the words weren't being played for the man across from you, with the mendacious loving stare, nor the directors that excitedly cast you, not even the crowd itself. But for the one man that you'd never have. He stuck at your mind, the very idea of him creating his home in the very front of your brain as every detailed memory of him courses through.   
  
The perfection of his looks, to the honeyed sweetness of his high voice were all vividly clear, and fresh in your mind. But why must he stay when you could never be together? Did you truly have to be a phantom in his heart, while Violet portrayed his love? It wasn't the time to think of it, you had to finish this final performance, first.    
  
His jaw clenched at the same time an embarrassed twitch pulled at her blood-red lips, and her lines sped through him with a heating sensation.   
"In my mind, I've already imagined our bodies entwining- defenseless and silent. Now I am here with you, no second thoughts, I've decided. Decided..." His breath weighed a ton. It became even worse, as the little sliver of her bare skin was exposed by the slit in the carelessly revealing skirt. The lights may as well have revealed feathered wings behind her, for its glow showed her angelic beauty. Her chest heaved, as if she was having the same troubles as him.   
  
"Past the point of no return. No going back now! Our passion play has now, at last, begun!" Her voice echoed, driving the passion in her. He, himself, seemed past that point. He had fallen into this valley of hearts intertwined into a feeling of pain, but relief. The stream of fluid memories of small touches of skin, against rocks of shared smiles, the sound of the waves crashing mere gentle laughs that they've given the other. It felt as if the words were meant only for him. For the silent understanding they have for each other. But why sing for him? Why was he with this woman he cared nothing for? Would he forever be in the shadow of one who would be her Raul, while Violet showed affections he would never return, for she was only paste in replacement of a diamond. The scene came to a close, and he could feel his heart doing the same. He may have to just learn to like Violet. He may have to forget the warm feeling that hugs him every time he meets the gaze of those e/c diamonds. Ignore the impulses to watch the performance of your h/c, doing leaps and twirls, partnered with the wind. Try to move on, because no matter how much he hates to admit it; You could never love him. Yes, you were alright with living in a criminal's home, supporting your brother's murderous tendencies, but you were still a good person. That was one of the initial things that sparked his attraction. You fully supported Sebastian before every job, sometimes even cleaning his gun before a mission, and the blood from his clothes after. Yet, you were kind. You had no problem giving up a meal to a hungry child, nor cheering someone up after a bad day. Your behavior suggested you'd be an angel, so it would never be in your nature to even admire the devilish ways he practiced. No way you'd care enough to love him as he loved you. Thoroughly torn between unable to contain the words he longed to admit, and wanting to at least retain the current relationship he treasured so dearly. Violet stood, tearing him from his thoughts as she waved her petite hand in front of his eyes. He shook the depression from his features, and gave her a small, reassuring smirk, before standing on his own, hoping she wouldn't initiate any contact. Of course, false hope is never a good thing, as it was clear she would take his hand, and she did.   
  
You quickly redressed in the casual attire, slipping your converse on, and tying them slowly. The phantom's touch still echoed in your memory, and it still seemed present on your skin, but that wasn't what you wanted. You wanted to feel his touch. Moriarty's touch. You wanted to feel finger tips as he lifted your chin to gaze upon you, that sly smirk drilling into you, like the school's bad-boy to a shy nerd. It was your every fantasy. You wanted to know the taste of his gum mixed with the burning Irish whiskey you always could smell in his breath. He never really drank, that you know of, it just always had that undertone, and boy, did you love it. It was your every daydream. You wanted to feel his hand clasped around yours as he lead the twirling path around a ballroom, whispering sweet words as he did. It was your biggest daydream. You wanted to feel his love, because you would hand him every weapon to harm, kill, or otherwise maim you, if only he'd promise a kiss before the pain. He was your biggest daydream, your every daydream, your every fantasy. Sometimes you just wanted to leave, and never look back to that heartbreak of a place, but you couldn't. Because the vivid brushstrokes of memories in your head would make you regret even the thought of it. The daily morning memory of seeing him in his sweatpants and plain white tee, his hair and stumble as if he'd been lost for years at sea. The gravelly roughness of his Irish drawl as he used his vocals for the first time that day to say good morning. The memories of his mischievous glint when he was all too excited to tell you all about the wonderful job he got, that bizarre glitter of insanity, as his dramatized movements swung themselves around, and the glances every few seconds to make sure you were still paying attention. But how could you not? Seeing him that excited was like giving gold to a poor man. You treasured the beauty and shine, and gladly accepted the rarity that made your heart double in size, only for it to be broken when his mood passed, and was back to being calculatingly cold, and flirting with everyone within proximity. Interest in people wasn't something he typically showed, but you pleaded to every single star that he'd make an exception, just for you. That in the end, he'd choose the shy girl that he knew as nothing more than the girl he shared a home with. That he'd choose you.   
  
He went over every detail in his head as he allowed Violet to drag him to the area outside of the Stars' doors, where she could properly show her admiration for the woman he'd come to know as the only person he'd ever love. It was ironic, in a roundabout way. He pictured every detail, he could practically feel the burn of her cheeks the first time they'd met. The day she moved in, and the soft    
  
-flashback cuz I'm lazy-   
  
He looked to his sniper, his second in command, straightening his tie once more. Sebastian figured it was because he was meeting a random woman who'd be living in his home for awhile, but that was only part of it. Moriarty always knew his best friend had a little sister, since the day they'd started working together, he started gathering Intel on her. And the more he got, the more intrigued he got. It started with the first time he had someone follow her. He expected her to be exactly like Sebastian in every way. From the greasy blonde hair, to the overly muscular build. That was simply not the case. Instead, he got pictures of wispy h/c hair, and those dazzling e/c eyes that stared into his soul; even through a photograph. Her (body shape; Ex. Lean, hourglass, curvy, etc.) striding confidently, and with a purpose. Then came gathering actual information on her, and that's what started his downwards spiral. Sure, she was beautiful, the most beautiful woman in the world in his eyes, but that wasn't what caught his attention. He found piles of information on Sebastian before finally meeting him. His sister, on the other hand, he found a few school report cards, a full ride to Oxford, and a news article for being the youngest person in the school's history to get your doctors. But that was it. He knew everything about Sebastian; from his last relationship (2001, before he was sent off to war), all the way to his shoe size (11). You? He couldn't deduce anymore information than what he'd already found from the photographs. His intrigue had been piling on, and on, but he hadn't done anything about it. Now he'd finally meet her; y/n Moran. A small, timid knock sounded at the large oak door, and Sebastian pulled them open, as Moriarty leaned against his desk. Pretending to be bored, when in reality, he was trying to figure out why his heart seemed to stop, why his blood ran cold, and why he suddenly felt ill prepared to meet her. You hugged Sebastian, and he happily wrapped his arms around you.   
"Geez, I missed you, y/n!" You giggled softly, causing Moriarty to glance up, the sound feeling sweet as it drifted into his ears, and he liked it. Absolutely adored it, actually.    
"Well I'd assumed so, it must've been like she wasn't even there when she was in highschool; the absolute youngest Oxford doctorate grad. That takes a lot of work." He sang intimidatingly, but in a tone that somehow made you feel at ease. No, actually, not at ease. You heart was pulsing in your chest as you glanced over to him a he spoke, and your first thought just had to be, 'Damn, he is hot!' Yep. It was timed absolutely perfectly, because the heat didn't come running up to your cheeks until he had finished, smirking up at you. Heat was radiating off your face, and you lifted an arm to rub the back of your neck, desperately trying to hide the look of recently being slapped (all over your face). Sebastian just gave that low, annoying laugh he had always done.   
"Yep, that's my sis, all right! She's pretty exceptional!" This only made the tinged pink skin, turn to blood red. You were a definite introvert, and it didn't help that you'd just met this man, and he already knew who you were. Or that he was probably some serial killer, knowing Seb. But something about him was... Calming, he rolled his eyes at Sebastian, a light smirk on his face. He looked over to you, shrugging apologetically, more of a smile on his face now.    
  
-End of flashback-   
  
Everything he knew about y/n Moran. She was exceptionally smart; an absolute genius. Her voice was like honey and dew drops from Summer's rain. Her movements were as strong and confident as his, but she was also more graceful than a swan. A swan's irritable flapping wings, versus her flowing silk-for-wings as she glided effortlessly through the air. Her favorite colour was the same colour she wore daily; (f/c). He listed about twenty more of her favorite things, before moving on to her personality. She was so open, and courageous, yet secretive and timid. She was a puzzle wrapped in a mystery, guarded by a riddle. And in her petite, delicate hands, laid the very thing he never wanted anyone to get to. His heart.   
  
Everything you knew about Jim Moriarty? Absolutely everything. You had memorized every little detail, and still did. You thirsted to know about him, for a single detail that'd help you get over him, but the more you found out, the more you loved him. Every detail that'd send most running for the hills, just sunk the claws into your heart, ready to tear it out when he had the chance. You looked in the mirror, and grabbed your bag; leaving the heels behind, and putting your previously 'fancy' outfit in your shoulder bag. You stepped out, immediately getting crazed fans attacking you. One person you didn't notice was Moriarty, unknowing of how he got there. You noticed his date first; Violet, was it? She asked for an autograph (something slightly odd considering, but you were happy to feel like a star), but as you were signing, you could feel your palms getting clammy. He stared at you, trying to figure out how to move on when you were always right there, right in front of him! It wasn't fair how you got to crush his heart, then break each little piece over and over again every time he'd see you. You hadn't even been his, and it was killing him inside to lose you. You knew that if she was here, he was, too. You gave everyone their pictures, and let the fans do their fanatics, and when you looked around, Moriarty was nowhere in sight, and Violet was gone. It should've been a sigh of relief, it gave you more time to come up with a reliable explanation, but it left an all too familiar crater in your heart, knowing he'd probably take her home, kiss her gently goodnight, and probably stay the night with her. You weren't ever sure what he did, but you had theories. You weren't wrong, but your reasoning to why was all messed up. Every woman he took out had meant nothing to him. A distraction to try and forget you plucking the strings to his heart, pulling him so high he was nearly on cloud nine, before breaking the same string, sending him crashing to the ground. Again and again. He had been excited to take out Violet; it was a test to see if you'd even care. After his last date, he noticed something he had then tagged as jealousy in your eyes (which it was), and noting how you had buried yourself so deep into his head that he could no longer just distract himself from you, he decided to see if maybe you'd be his. After you had met Violet, so sweet and kindly, he gave up. At this point, he just wanted to go home, so he dropped Violet off, not even bothering to say goodbye as he stared blankly out his car window. He tried to find a place to look that didn't bring up thoughts of you, but was at a loss. He tried to look at the ground, watching each blade of grass yield to the breeze's soft force. It brought up the memory of when he watched from his office window, you babysitting his niece as a favor. You laid down that day, the grass hugging you gently, as you pointed to each cloud, laughing and chatting idly with the six year old. Then he tried the gorgeous night sky, but the stars only reminded him of the night in Moscow, Sebastian insisted on you coming because there were some threats coming in, and thought it'd be better if he could protect you, so Moriarty agreed. The car stopped to change a tire that had gone flat, and to calm him down, you started pointing out the constellations, and their stories. He tried the far-reaching floral horizon, then the flat complex, and even the window, itself. Each road led him to the same place; You. He opted to close his eyes, and try to file you away as 'unimportant', failing miserably as the car drove him home. To his surprise, when he got there, you were pacing in the living room, trying to figure out how to explain all of this mess. He watched for a few seconds, admiring how, even when under distress, you kept that graceful, yet bold walk. He couldn't live like this much longer. He had to watch you be everything he wanted- actually, no, you were just everything to him. Not just what he wanted. You were his everything, while you didn't even care to try and understand what he felt towards you. He cleared his throat to alert you to his presence, and you spun to face him.   
"Hello, y/n." He said, rather reluctantly, but thoughts started flying through both of your heads as you took in the other's full appearance.   
"Oh. You're home..." Not as much time as you thought you had, but it was enough. You knew how to explain why you didn't tell him, why you lied. It wasn't a good explanation, but it'd do.   
"Of course I'm home; it's my house." That was another thing you were afraid of. That he'd kick you to the curb for being weak, ordinary. He glanced around the living room, eyes wandering around, but never landing on you. You guessed distrust and disgust for the woman before him, but you couldn't be farther from the truth. Okay, maybe you could. The only distrust he had, was to himself, he didn't trust he'd be able to look into those eyes without falling into their batches of e/c pearl, that he could face those lips without greedily taking his own to them, nor did he trust that he'd be able to hold back the want, no, the need to entangle his fingers in the wispy locks, hanging in beautiful waves, like willow branches. It disgusted him to know he had those compromising thoughts, that he lusted for your touch as much as your affection, but most of all, how he thought about taking it. It was a split second thought, and he hated himself for it. But he didn't trust himself enough to not be that monster, so he refused any contact between you both.    
"Uh, yes, but I figured that you'd at least stay the night with Ms. Monroe." There was a slight drop in your tone. Jealousy and pain fought for control of how the words sounded, despite you only wanting to sound inquisitive. He began moving to the lounge room, suddenly interested in the painting he had bought a few years back. You heaved a deep breath, ready to explain everything.   
"I'm not interested in Ms. Monroe." He dismissed the idea, and you were relieved, but shocked. The way he said it was is as if it were obvious, and almost like he was upset you'd think he actually liked her.   
"James, I apologize for lying, and keeping this from you, but you must understand my position. It could've looked bad on Sebastian, and you could've kicked me out. Heaven only knows how I'd be after that. I didn't want anything to relay bad on him, or yourself, for my extra-curricular activities." You explained quickly, you wanted out of there. Violet was so beautiful, so poised and elegant, why would he ever want you if he didn't even like her?!   
"I don't know why you're apologizing about that. It's not that big of a deal." He said it so nonchalantly, that you almost didn't notice his mistake.   
"Then what should I apologize for?" His head snapped to you, and his eyes darted downwards to consider what he had said.   
"Damnit." He whispered under his breath. There was no explanation he could come up with, no decent one anyway, that he wouldn't ruin everything he had worked for. Everything he had done to be your friend, to get close to you. He buried his fame in his hands attempting to clear you from his mind once again. A state of panic washing over over you, you fell in front of him, trying to analyze what had suddenly happened.   
"James! Are you alright?" He lifted his head, astonished that you had been so worried for him. His eyes met yours, and he still neglected to notice how your pupils nearly doubled in size, how your pulse seemed to be attracted and instantly repulsed, just to be attracted to the magnetism of him as it pounded through you.    
"Want to know why you need to apologize?" His voice sounded like it was coming out as rusty nails, cutting up his throat, and paining him in the worst way possible, as he looked up to look in your eyes. You nodded feebly, concerns about the sudden question. He took your hand, and opened your palm, running his thumbs over the small (skin tone) rivers moving through it. He swallowed a lump in his throat.   
"I'm past the point of no return. And it's all your fault, you just keep breaking me!" His voice was in a hoarse whisper, and his words took you off guard, "You stole my heart, and you just forget you have it, except for the moments you’re pulling it apart. You distract me without being there, and I greif a loss I have yet to know!" He sat in silence, his hands still cradling your left one, and you just blinked. You were too shell-shocked for the words to truly register, and for you to truly react. He brushed you away, and started towards the hall. He was nearly out of the lounge, when his words finally caught up to you, and you ran to catch up. You grabbed his arm, stopping him. His breath hitched, acting like a plug for his breath. He slowly turned towards you, eyes full of shock, and jaw slightly slack. He had absolutely no time to react, before your lips were connected with his. His eyes widened for a second, before he relaxed into it, securing one hand to your waist, the other reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your cheek, then to become prisoner in your holding waves. You could taste spearmint gum, mixed with the unexpected taste of honey. Your left arm wrapped around his neck, and the other rested on his neck and collarbone, slowly moving it to the back of his neck, and dragging itself back down. It was everything he ever imagined, and then some. The feeling of your lips reminded him of soft rose petals brushing against his lips. All the electricity he had grown accustomed to from the small, purposeful brushing of skin was magnified to proportions he couldn't describe. You were transported to your own world, where the only thing in existence was each other. 

 


	7. Blind Date [Lestrade/Reader]

His wife was moving on just fine, but with work and everything, Lestrade was having troubles finding a woman to go out with. So that's when Donovan got the genius idea that he should go on a blind date. She soon put her plan into action, without his say, of course. Anderson's sister was going through a similar situation, never finding the time to actually meet anyone, and overly focused on her work. He knew nothing about her other than her last name. That's it. He continued to think about his predicament as Donovan forced him towards the over-the-top restaurant, that he was in no way dressed for, and sighed. Wishing he could get out of it. 

The same went for y/n Anderson. Her brother and his mistress (which she definitely didn't approve of) had been trying to set her up on dates since she divorced her husband. She was always just too busy, but today she had the day off, and her 'target' was supposed to be at the restaurant tonight, so she agreed. Donovan was driving her to the restaurant, not approving of y/n not even taking the time to dress up, so she forced her to change in the car. 

Once Anderson got Lestrade to the restaurant, he shoved him into the bathroom, handing him some nicer clothes, and told him to get ready. It was one of Lestrade's that he typically only wore when absolutely necessary, and usually only for work. It was a grey 'dress' suit, and it had a light blue tie. He didn't look bad, and it matched his hair so well that his eyes stood out. He pulled it on, not bothering to switch his white button-up for the other. When he stepped out, Anderson looked him over, and nodded, sending him towards the front to wait. As Donovan pulled up, y/n Anderson exited the car in the (f/c) dress she only wore for work. It was a cocktail dress, it matched the classic cocktail style to a T, and the (f/c) fabric was fitted to her frame perfectly. Her gorgeous h/c locks were wavy, and recently pulled from a high ponytail, and cascaded down her sides (pretend your hair is long, I'm sorry). Her e/c eyes shone reflected happiness, even though it was obvious she didn't want to be here. Anderson moved Lestrade forward, a tight grip on his shoulder, and held a hand out to his sister.

"Sis, this is my boss, Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. Greg, this is my sister, y/n Anderson, you'll have to ask her about her job, she's too much like Sherlock for me to get anything out of her." Lestrade narrowed his eyes, wondering why the hell he would set him up with someone who is 'like' Sherlock. 

"Hello, DI Lestrade. How's the daughter?" Lestrade was taken back a bit, but finally realized what Anderson meant.

"Feel free to call me Greg, but fine. Thanks for asking." He tried to be polite, but realized how south this date was going to go. You smiled politely.

"You know, Phillip, I have work to be getting done, and places like this aren't exactly my 'cup of tea', and I can also tell they aren't Greg's, either. So. How long is my sister in law away?"  Anderson seemed upset at your sudden 'outburst', but Lestrade couldn't help smiling.

"I'm sure your and Donovan's date can happen without us having to go into a terribly over pieced restaurant that I have to care for. You know I tire of this, Phillip." She gave an innocent smile, Donovan huffed, and handed you your usual f/c top, and black skinny jeans (sorry if this isn't your 'usual' style, I'm mainly doing this because it helps the theme of you 'tiring' of fancier things from always hanging out with Mycroft). Anderson handed Lestrade him work clothes, and let the two of you change. You met back outside, leaving your hair and makeup, mainly because Donovan forced you out.

"Thank you, I appreciate it." Lestrade murmured so they couldn't hear.

"Of course, but I wasn't exactly lying either. My job has tired me of such things." You stated, happily. He could already tell how different you were from Sherlock, and admired how smart, yet human, you were.

"So, what do you do?" You gave a short laugh.

"I work with Mycroft Holmes. To be honest, this isn't the first date I've been set up on by Phillip. Him and Mycroft do make a most dreadful pair." You both laughed. You walked and talked, not really sure where you were both going, but also not really caring. You enjoyed each other's company, and it was nice. 

"It's nearly midnight." You stated, looking at the massive clock tower before you, but Lestrade couldn't remove his eyes from you. Your hair glimmered in the moonlight, and your e/c diamonds, you called eyes, reflected the crystal rays. You had enjoyed your time with Lestrade, and truly hoped you would be doing it, again. He wouldn't mind your ungodly hours, and he wouldn't mind yours. It was a fairly decent idea for Phillip and Donovan to have. 

"So, if you despise dating so much, why'd you agree to come out on a blind date with me of all people?" Lestrade has asked himself this question a million times. Your glistening irises looked into his plain chocolate ones. He truly was one of the most charming men you'd ever met, and you liked him a great deal.

"To be honest, when Phillip arose the idea of me going out, Mycroft was overjoyed. He doesn't enjoy people showing him up, by staying later and going in earlier than him. He practically forced me, and I must say, I was a little sour at first, but I've actually quite enjoyed tonight." You spoke freely and honestly, and at first, Lestrade was a little hurt. But when you said you enjoyed your time together, he was overjoyed.

"Well, perhaps we should do this again, sometime?" He inquired, deep inside he was begging, but didn't let it show in his confident tone.

"Most definitely."


	8. Ignored [Sherlock/Reader]

"So, John wants us to go out with him and  Marry tomorrow evening, but you will probably say 'no', because Moriarty is a foot..." You were basically talking to yourself, because Sherlock was obviously not listening. You groaned, hoping he would take five seconds to even give you a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’. Looked like you were out of luck...

"Sherlock." You spoke slightly louder, but still nothing. Was he trying to ignore you? He wasn't in his mind palace, or even doing anything. He was just clicking the button in his computer again and again!

"Sherlock!" You nearly shouted, and he hummed in response. That stupid little twat! Had he heard you from the get-go?

"No need to yell, I am right here." Sherlock still didn't look at you. You could handle a lot from Sherlock, but he had been ignoring you for the past week. If you didn’t have the self-discipline of Mycroft Holmes, himself, you might’ve punched. Hell, you were considering it, even now.

"Oh my Chuck. He speaks!" You declared, as if it were an amazement, to be honest, with how things were recently, it was.

"Of course I speak, what do you want?" You decided to ignore him, if he really paid so little attention to you, to not realize what you were trying to ask for three straight days, then you'd pull a Sherlock. You just sat down, mindlessly tapping on your phone.

"Y/n?" He turned to look at you, pissed expressions still glued to both your faces, "Fine. Ignore me, see if I care!" He turned back to his laptop, it already bugging him. Yes, he had heard every word, but didn't want to say anything about not wanting to go, because then he'd have to explain not wanting to see John. Which meant he'd have to explain the conundrum he was in. With his pride? No way. You both sat in silence, until Sherlock's phone buzzed.

"Ah, a case! Beautiful! Y/n, come on!" He grabbed his coat, flying out of the flat. He soon realized you weren't behind him, and went back to see what's taking you. You sat completely unconcerned with what he said.

"Oh, come on! You aren't seriously going to sit there like you didn't hear a word I said, are you?" Now it was his turn to groan as he grumbled annoyed curses. You continued tapping away on your phone, not even caring to register his words. He scowled.

"Fine. I'll go without you!" He left and you continued typing on your phone. Sherlock texted you a few times, needing your help, but you simply ignored him.

  
  
**~Le Time skips~**  


  
"I solved the case, and I officially know where Moriarty is residing!" He exclaimed, waiting for his excited 'clapping, well done'! None came. He looked to you and frowned. You were still ignoring him, and would until he apologized.

"Really? Still ignoring me?" You casually flipped a page in your book. The past three weeks had been hell for Sherlock. He missed the sarcastic 'good mornings' when he woke you up too early, the squealing hugs when he finished a piece he had been working on his violin, the excited clapping for solving a case, and most of all, you cuddled up in his arms as he fell asleep. It was something he had never realized how much it meant to him, until it was gone. He had always hated physical contact, but the warmth of your body curled up next to his? He missed it. He missed you. He had been ignoring Moriarty, and John, even Lestrade. Yes. He took cases, and even worked extra hard on Moriarty, but every time he got a message to meet the criminal, he ignored it. Mainly because when you slept was the only time he got any real contact from you. He couldn't stay for long, eventually he would slip off his small space on the couch, but the thirteen and a half minutes of contact meant the world to him these last few weeks. He clenched his jaw, and forced himself not to shout. He just slipped back into his bedroom. About five minutes later, the door to the flat swung open. You looked up to see James Moriarty, pissed.

"Oh. Hello, Mr. Moriarty! I'm y/n, Sherlock's girlfriend, possibly ex, haven't spoken to him in weeks, so I'm not quite sure." You gave a small unamused shrug, and held out a hand for him to shake. Moriarty narrowed his eyes at you, and suddenly remembered your file. He took your hand, cautiously.

"Why haven't you spoken to him?" He narrowed his eyes further, and a sick smile spread on your lips.

"BECAUSE I IGNORED HER, AND SHE THINKS THAT IS A BLOODY SOLUTION!" Sherlock called from his bedroom, and Moriarty cocked an eyebrow at you, as if he didn't believe it.

"Quite true. Honestly, if he would've just apologized, and didn't snap at me when I asked him a simple question, none of it would've happened. So to what do we owe the pleasure, Mr. Moriarty." He was stunned. You managed to turn Sherlock's whole world upside down, just waiting for an apology. 

"Well, I just came to make sure he wasn't dead," He sat down across from you, "But now I see something much more interesting. Do tell me, how'd you do it?" He leaned back, staring at you with intrigue, propping his cheek on his fist. Sherlock listened closely in.

"Quite easily, I'm afraid. People tend to not know what they have until it's gone. He's thrown worms at me a few times, but I don't see what that would help. If he was smarter, he would've called John and told him to cut off my anxiety meds." You explained, and Moriarty snorted. 

"You're interesting, I'll give you that." Moriarty nodded, and you beamed brightly at him. At least not everyone thought your little plan to be nothing more than a nuisance!

"Why, thank you. I hear a compliment is hard to come by with you." You looked back down to your book, but didn’t miss a beat as the conversation pushed forwards.

"Yes, very." You two spoke casually, and some of his comments were a little flirtatious, but there was one that sent Sherlock over.

"Would you want to join me to a pub, it seems we both have a lot in common. One; we're both being ignored by your boyfriend!" He asked chipper, and you were about to agree when Sherlock came barging in.

"NO, NO, NO! Are you insane?!" He exclaimed, coming into the middle of the conversation. Oh? Was he suddenly concerned with evening plans you were making? Interesting.

"Sounds delightful, but I'm afraid I'll have to decline, your boyfriend has a gun aimed at me, and I prefer to be killed up close. Maybe another day?" You asked so casually, and Moriarty tried to contain his laughter at how ignored and upset Sherlock felt.

"Oh, why of course, I completely understand. So, may I ask, how'd you know Seb was going to shoot you?" You both shared a laugh, because it was pretty obvious. With the looks that swept just past you, he must’ve been in the flat across the street. Maybe... Third floor?

"You keep checking behind me with a look that says 'down boy', it was easy to assume." You both laughed again. Tears threatened Sherlock. His girlfriend- HIS girlfriend- would talk to an insane psychopath who had a sniper on her, but not him?!

"God, you insufferable woman! Fine! I am sorry! I'm sorry for ignoring you, I'm sorry for snapping at you, now will you please just speak to me?" You decided to continue this a bit further, because, after all, a bad apology was almost worse than none at all.

"I'm sorry, did you hear something, Jim? Sounded like a very bad apology?" You questioned, and Moriarty doubled over from laughter. Sherlock calmed himself down, quickly reassessing his situation and word choices.

"Okay, look y/n, I am very, truly sorry I ignored you and that I snapped at you. I can't do anything without you. Will you please forgive me?" He begged and you smiled up at him, glad to have finally gotten your way.

"Ah, Sherly, didn't see you there. Do sit down!" He sighed, semi-relieved. Three weeks of pure, toxic hell- no, the last weeks had been worse than that. He didn’t have words to describe it, but he’d need more soon...

"You're not supposed to call me that, you know." He still wanted to be the man in the relationship, and the nickname utterly infuriated him. You turned back to Moriarty, who was on the edge of his seat, looking like a kid in a candy store.

"I'm sorry, I must be a going crazy, I swear I'm hearing voices." Sherlock's relief dropped, as he realized what would happen. Moriarty had a twisted, ear-to-ear smile as his eyes wandered over to the detective.

"NO! No, no, no! Please? You can call me whatever! Just don't ignore me!" He was begging, and Moriarty rather enjoyed his pain. Especially the near tears. He considered using you against the detective, but- who was he kidding? You made things much more interesting.

"Aw, Sherly, how sweet. Care to join the conversation?" He walked over to you, both relieved and annoyed. Moriarty replayed your conversation.

"Anxiety meds?" He inquired.

"I have no trouble talking to a psychopath about my sociopath boyfriend ignoring me, and am extremely sarcastic about being shot from a distance purely on a whim. You thought I didn't have some sort of mental issue?" Moriarty laughed and snapped, standing up, calling off Sebastian. 

"True, true. I expect an answer next time Sherlock. It truly was lovely to meet you,  Ms. L/n. If you ever need anything, do call." And with that he exited the flat. Once he was gone, Sherlock pulled you into a loving embrace that he missed so much.

"Now, we are going to bed, because I missed it." You sighed at how childish he was as he dragged you to your shared room.

"Alright. You can cuddle me." You both laughed. Ignoring Sherlock had been fun. Might have to do it again sometime...


	9. I (1000 words for hate) You. [MoranxReader]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian! Yay!

**~Three Years Ago~** **  
**   
"Okay, here's how this is going to go. Either you come work for me- or I send Tiger after you again, and I swear he won't fail this time." Moriarty offered, and obviously you were in no condition to cause him any physical harm. Not with twenty-two snipers circling you.

"He isn't here?" You teased, a definitely maniacally mischievous glint in your eyes. He didn't seem very pleased with your response, but smiled anyways.

"He is. Not happy about it, but he is." Moriarty confirmed, and one of the dots decided to move to one of your pupils, then the other to blind you.

"Ah. There he is, I suppose." You chuckled lightly, but soon stop when you realize you're being given the death glare by your, ultimately, future employer.

"I suppose I don't quite have a choice. Fine. I'll work for you."   
  
**~Present Day~** **  
**   
You sat at the table with Jim, spreading jam onto your toast. Jim, as far as you'd seen, never ate. Your theory was that he secretly was part plant and used photosynthesis to fulfill his need for sustenance. Of course, you knew he probably just didn't eat around you, but your theory was cooler. Sebastian left his room (finally. For an assassin, he slept way too much.), and (better yet) he was shirtless and appeared to have just gotten out of the shower.

"Hey, Moron." You insulted as he groaned, realizing you were still there.

"You've got to be kidding me. Is it really necessary for her to still be here?!" He whined to Jim who rubbed his temples in response.

"Her flat's gone thanks to Dani's bomb, and we need the extra security on this front. Yes; it is." Jim concluded, rolling his eyes at, what had quickly become, you two's morning routine.

"I'm hurt, Sebby! Don't you like having me around?" You played coy, asking with big, innocent-looking e/c eyes and all. He scoffed in return. Rude.   
Jim snickered, "She plays off innocent a lot better than you, Tiger. Useful skill." You beamed proudly towards Jim's "head sniper", who huffed in response. Let's face it, despite him being ungodly attractive with his sun-threaded hair, and eyes that could only be challenged by the sky in level of blueness... he hated you. Sure, you tried to kill him three or four times, but in your defense you were targeted first. Obviously that meant you'd messed up his "perfect kill record" or whatever. The one who survived, you guessed. 

"I'd still prefer not having her alive- I mean- around." He meant that, don't he? Dick. Jim glared at him, his eyes widening for a moment before he groaned and began glaring again. Standing, Jim faced Sebastian head on. Hey, maybe Jim didn't dislike you!

"Office. Now." Jim demanded of Sebastian, while you wore a Cheshire Cat grin, cocking your head just to annoy him.  Giving up, Sebastian headed to the office, Jim short on his heals. After closing (and locking) the door, Jim turned towards the sniper.

"You like her." Jim insisted, a tad bit annoyed he hadn't realized sooner.

"What?!" He already got defensive, "No. I don't!" Jim didn't look like he even had a doubt that Sebastian liked you. 

"You stare at her like a lovesick puppy, and even though you know she's going to do nothing but insult you, you hang on her every word like it's going to be gospel. You admire her beyond admiration. Explain to me how you're not smitten with her?" Leaning against the door, he did his little brow quirk that he did when someone had explaining to do.

"She's a talented assassin, and despite everything, I can admire that!" Met with more bemused disbelief, "Also, she's very clever, and quick-witted. I think it's more than fair if I sometimes listen to her constant babbling!" Jim didn't even know where to start. Quickly, Sebastian turned the conversation a little more in his favor.

"I loathe the girl! Despise her every notion! She's an annoying little brat, who can't think of anything better to do than insult me! Why on earth would I like her?!" Even as he spoke, his thoughts trailed off to everything he could honestly say he liked about you. Your eyes could act like nothing happened, and like they weren't doing anything but looking down at your phone, while simultaneously gathering all the needed details she'd need for an assassination just from passing a person. How you held yourself; poised but ready to fight. Any man you met found your presence endearing and enchanting, but he knew it was like tasting the poisoned fruit. Oh so good, as it guaranteed your demise. Your mind was something else. While he struggled to keep up with Jim's detailed and complex plans as the man spoke at the speed of light- You never did. You followed along with precision, and determination, not forgetting to provide witty insight. Your sharp tongue. That was another thing. You'd stand tall and proud, never taking crap from anyone. Even Jim respected you for that one! And the way your eyes gleamed when you were especially proud of yourself. It'd be the death of him-!

"Well, because you just said all that out loud?" Jim smirked as he watched Sebastian flush. Damn bad habit. Jim couldn't remember when Sebastian started talking to himself, he can't remember him ever doing it when hey were kids, but after the army he did it all the time. Especially when he was alone, on a job. Jim's best guess was that it kept him occupied and focused when cooped up for a shot for hours, even days, on end.

"Shut up, it doesn't prove a damn thing!" Sebastian retaliated, not wanting to admit it. He hated you- he had to...

"I've work to do. Try not to blow your cover." Jim teased, clapping him on the shoulder as he went around to his desk. And as Sebastian headed back to the kitchen, all he could think about is how he couldn't believe he'd fallen for the woman he hated most in the world.   


 

A few hours later, you sat at the table, chair leaning out, twiddling your newest dagger. Maybe you could force it into Sebastian's shoulder. His broad, strong shoulder... No, too bloody. Chuck- you just wanted to see if his lips were really as soft as they looked. Is that really such a crime? Well, technically... How you were suggesting it, yes. You launched the blade into the wall, and got up to grab it, only to run into the man himself. 

"Hey, Tiger, what did Boss want?" You teased, "For you to suc-" You were cut off when you were slammed into the wall, hand still gripping the handle of your dagger. Not only that, but his lips were completely encasing yours, and dang- they were softer than you imagined. One would expect the kiss to be rough, like his nickname suggested. Like a tiger attacking prey, but it wasn't. It was more like, a songbird's music, coursing through him and to you, letting your heart know exactly when to beat. It was exciting, and got your blood pounding like nothing else. It was- Your moment was cut off from the clearing of a throat. Your e/c eyes shot wide open, to be met with equally as wide ocean blues.

"Am I disturbing you?" Jim asked coyly. Sebastian disconnected himself from you, and glared at his best friend.

"Yes, actually." Jim sighed and turned to leave.

"If this affects either of your ability to work, remember; Sebby would make a lovely rug, and y/n could be a wonderful glove set."


	10. My Lestrade [LestradexReader]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just a nice, short and sweet one-shot. My next one will be Sherlock, I hope. So sorry guys!  
> ~CEx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I shamelessly put in a mystrade pun. Originally, the end of this was in a Mystrade one-shot I was doing, but I gave up after failing to put Mycroft in the situation and I couldn't part with my pun. I'm so, so sorry.

It was just coming on night time, you, Lestrade, and some coworkers went to a pub to relieve some of the day's stress. It wasn't something you did often, you really didn't enjoy Anderson and Donovan's company all that much, but the day had been hard. The body of a child had shown up, mutilated in every sense of the word. His hair had been yanked from the roots, and chunks had been bitten out of him. The teeth were from a dog, a domestic breed, at that. The killer had a dog _eat_ the kid _alive_. It was a vile site, and absolutely devastating. Lestrade ordered the first round and everyone began drinking.

You weren't a fan of getting drunk; hated not being in control of you; but you had one beer, and stayed with your coworkers and boyfriend until they seemed like they were at a stag party. They were on their fourth, perhaps fifth, when you excused yourself to use the restroom. You just needed some space from your smashed 'friends'. You and Greg had been a thing since you returned from (current place of residence, unless that's Britain, then use America) to move back with your little brother, Sherlock. You had the talent which your younger and older brothers showed off so often, but chose to keep it to yourself. Sherlock had invited you on a case, a simple murder, and that's when you met Greg. The first time you met, he seemed so sweet and kind, it was hard not to develop a crush on him, to be honest.

He was handsome, with that salt and pepper speckled hair, those caring brown eyes, not to mention his smile. It was soft and gentle like a teddy bear's, but shone brighter than a diamond. It was award winning, and you loved it. Actually, you loved him. He was charming, and charismatic, which balanced your shy, and tend-to-fail-at-flirting demeanor. He was funny and sarcastic, and he always made you laugh when you were about to cry. Sherlock and Mycroft (even yourself at one point) had believed you'd fall for someone as extraordinary as yourself, someone who wasn't a goldfish. And in your mind, you had done that. Greg wasn't ordinary. Anyone who could make the girl who had spent her entire life with tears sticking like glue in her eyes, smile and laugh and overall be happy _was_ extraordinary. He completed you in the best ways, loved your flaws, and you loved his. That's why you were so quick to just accept his tendency to go to the pub. He usually didn't get hammered, per say, but he did drink one or two before he went home. Or to your place. Either, or.

You picked up your courage to deal with your sputtering, stuttering, slurring peoples, and exited the restroom. You walked around large herds of drunks, just to make it back to your table. Just to find a burning sensation in your chest. A woman, about your height, with cascading blonde hair and clown-like makeup, was flirting with your boyfriend. She twirled a long, h/c lock around her pointer finger until you swore it'd fall right off. She was leaning in front of him on the table, showing off her obviously fake breasts, and Greg seemed to be having none of it. Even in his slurred speech patterns, it was clear he was saying he was taken, but the lady kept pushing. You strode calmly up to the table, where Donovan was practically grinding herself on Anderson's lap in a disgusting display. You stood defiantly next to your DI, and stared with a small, amused smile at the woman. Your eyes flickered to different clues about who she was. She didn't see what was happening, but Greg knew that look. It was Sherlock's look.

"So, how long ago did your fiancé begin sleeping with your soon-to-be-maid of honour?" You chirped perkily, throwing the woman off guard. The once steamy make-out session between the two lovers had come to an abrupt end as they stared at you in shock, even Greg did. Lestrade figured you could deduce, just perhaps not as well as your siblings. Donovan and Anderson, however, thought you were "normal". You smirked maniacally at her panicked expression.

"He didn't. We just had a falling out!" She defended. You dropped your smirk into a bored expression, rolling your eyes.

"Yes he did. The engagement ring is in your back pocket. If it had been 'just a falling out' you would've put it in a keepsake box, or if he had died, on a chain around your neck. No, you keep it in your back pocket. Front means someone you don't know- more hope for resolution- you purposefully chose the boyfriend of the only woman in this bar with any physical similarities to yourself; me. That means the woman he cheated on you for looks like you, therefore, your sister. Aka, your maid of honour. You're retaliating, proving you can beat her. Sorry, but breast plants don't actually help in these cases. I have a feeling he just finds you deplorable, but started dating you for your looks. Looks similar to your sister's. It was elementary, at best." Tears began pricking the woman's eyes, and she looked at you with complete hatred. Her eyes fueled with hell's flames as they attempted to burn your impenetrable shell. She spun on her heal, and walked straight out of the pub. Greg looked at you, drunkenness beginning to succumb to curiosity's stare.

"I thought you didn't like using your deducing-powers!" He began to laugh harder than you'd ever seen before. You slapped his shoulder, and laughed a bit yourself.

"I don't, but..." You pulled your arms around his shoulders protectively, and he turned his head to face you. You stared him directly in the eyes, forehead resting placidly on his. "My-Strade.”


	11. Selfish. [MorMor; SebKate]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Sebastian is taken by Mycroft, and beleived dead by those who know him. In this, Kate is Sebastian's fiancée, despite the long-standing relationship he and Jim had.   
> This entire story is Jim's reaction to Sebastian's death.
> 
> -This was written in reaction to an RP I was following of someones, and I do have their permission to use.-

     He hoped Kate wouldn't notice the missing army jacket... or tee shirts... or boxer shorts- or anything he'd slipped out of Sebastian's things. She'd been very kind when he went over there, despite the entire situation being his fault. She didn't show that she blamed him, even though he blamed himself enough for the both of them. But she was clearly taking it hard, and she was at about the same point he was- denying it. In any way, shape, or form possible. He'd made up some half-arsed lie about files and documents, and quickly took the worn military jacket and a few other things. He couldn't remember the last time he regretted stealing something this much.    


     Still, he laid there, practically swimming in the tee and shorts, curled up with the army jacket. He couldn't help it- as much as he wanted to deny that Sebastian was dead, it was clear to him that the only other explanation would be worse.    


**Mycroft.**   


     If Sebastian wasn't already in the hands of Death, he was likely being tortured to them. For the sake of Sebastian, he hoped the prior was true over the latter. No matter how much he wanted Sebastian to be alive, he didn't want it to be like that. He didn't want Sebastian to be suffering- not because he was so stupid. That would be worse than Sebastian dying because of his stupidity. He should've just let it go. He shouldn't have been so stubborn, or gotten so upset. This was his fault, and only his fault, and he knew it.    


     He curled the jacket in tighter, eyes screwing shut as he inhaled the familiar scent of gunpowder and cigarette ash. Sebastian could come from straight out of the shower, and that's still what Jim thought he smelled of most. Whether it was just the unconscious association of it that caused it, or if Sebastian actually did, didn't matter. Because the jacket smelled of him, and he clung to it like a child would their safety blanket. 

  
     He'd been feeling it since he saw the message. The world slowly shifting back to where it had been- it always did when Sebastian left, and it always fixed itself when he returned. He always returned, but this was different. Sebastian wouldn't return, not this time, and he could feel the acceleration of the shading falling to black.    
He could feel paranoia creep up his spine, and could smell the stench of a man, more drugs and alcohol than human, climb the stairs. Hear the banging as he crashed, and taste the bile rising to his throat as he felt the bed dip beside him. 

  
     The memories were filing back into their places, and he couldn't do anything to stop their teeth from sinking into him, tearing at his flesh and at his mind. He couldn't do anything about it, except clutch the jacket closer, and breathe in the familiarity. Imagine Sebastian pulling him close, and holding him. 

  
     "You promised..." He whispered into the dark abyss surrounding him, "You promised you wouldn't leave me, again..." But, in the end, Jim knew it was his own fault. He was the one who fired Sebastian, knocked over the first domino that led to the fall of the great Tiger. 

  
     Sebastian, for the sake of the sniper's own self, had to be dead. The horror he'd face if he wasn't would be more than just physical. Those few things that sparked real fear in Sebastian's eyes, those memories... they'd be relived, until he took his very. Last. Breath. 

  
     More than anything, he wanted it to all be some nightmare his mind conjured up. But the pain was too real, and the reactions of those around him too sound. He'd promised Sebastian he'd try his hardest not to hurt himself anymore, but he could feel the scars on his arms itching to be reopened, again and again until the pain was so potent that he went into shock. Did a promise still count if half the party wasn't there..?

  
     No, he couldn't, not then.  Sebastian deserved a proper funeral, and a proper apology when it happened. He could never desecrate Sebastian's memory by doing so before the funeral had even been held. He'd have to grit his teeth and wait.  The millions of thoughts zoomed around Jim's mind, his stomach curling into itself as Jim did on himself. 

  
     It all ached, and he just wished it'd stop. He hated the feeling- the one where you realize just how much a person made you up. The hollowness that replaces it, more painful than any sort of heartbreak, though it, in itself, was a form. It was a crushing thing, feeling the person slip from the holes they filled inside you. But, moreover, Jim felt completely isolated. Like a child, again. Perhaps back to when he was teaching, or when his mum died. Every painful memory shooting through him, no one to stop it. All he had was the jacket, and the minute good it did comparatively being better than nothing at all- even if the feel of it beneath his finger tips made him want to cry.   
He could hear his phone buzzing with messages and calls, most likely from random clients, but he couldn't bring himself to pick it up from the floor.

  
     It would be selfish to hope Sebastian was alive, even if it meant he was being tortured. Even if it meant he was alone with Mycroft. That, as long as he was alive, it wouldn't matter. It'd be horrendously selfish to wish that Sebastian was being barraged with every memory that hurt him most, if it meant he bled dry in some government warehouse somewhere. So, incredibly selfish...   


 

  
And _damn_ , was Jim selfish.


	12. Graveyard Blues [MoranxReader?]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this was made based on a prompt request; "She took a sip of wine and tried to pretend she hung out in graveyards all of the time."

You could feel the autumn air whisking all around you. Feel the almost silent rhythm of the leaf's delicate dance as you hurried to your destination. Many people wouldn't believe that anything that could be considered 'sinister' could be going on when the world around was this gorgeous. The stars overheard whispered twinkling secrets to their friend, the moon, who beamed with a soft glow. The evening was gentle and sweet, not cold but not hot. It was an evening most would consider romantic, maybe even perfect. 

You wished you had time to think like that. Instead, you were swiftly swerving in and out of happy couples, trying to avoid eyes lest you expose yourself to their joy. Your pain. Continuing to move forward to the haunting place you still, to this day, couldn't describe. You'd been there before, when your dear friend had passed. You'd stood next to his brother and bestfriend, feeling nearly faint when his parents asked if you two had been involved. You weren't sure how to respond to that, after all, their son's blood was partially on your hands. Even if it was just a few droplets. 

Your thoughts had become so distracted that you'd nearly missed the entry to the cemetery. You didn't, however, and slipped in, praying that you wouldn't attract too much attention. You weaved in and out of headstones, looking for the one. 

When you found it, you had to stop. Stop moving, stop breathing, stop thinking. He'd been your friend, years ago, but still. Written across a dark headstone was a name that haunted many, all, even. In one way or another. 

> _ James Isaac Moriarty III _

You wished you'd brought flowers or something. The stone, large as it was, was barren of anything but dry dirt and dust. Gingerly, you knelt down, lightly removing the coat of dirt from the stone with your sleeve. 

"How sweet of you." His voice was tougher than you remembered, but that might've just been the sarcastic snap of his words. 

"You missed the funeral, I'm afraid. Only by a year or so, though." Bitter, upset, angry. You couldn't blame him for feeling any of it, but it still left an ache in your chest.

"He was my friend, too." You tried, voice croaking out barely above a whisper. He laughed, but the sound wasn't pleasant. It was vicious and violent. The kind of laugh that would send fear in the hearts of anyone who'd dare cause it. 

"Your friend!? Is that why you abandoned us—for some stupid detective!?" His words sank their teeth into you, refusing to let go before they tore you apart. Without a single thought, you stood and spun around to face him, hand making contact with his cheek. He staggered back, eyes wide with shock.

"I abandoned you!?" You snapped in return, eyes brimming with tears, "If my intention had been to abandon—I wouldn't have come. And I wouldn't have come if I had known this would be my treatment!" 

Running his fingers over his still stinging cheek, he nodded, "Alright...Alright. We had an agreement, let's get this over with..." He mumbled, handing you the bag. Taking it, you nodded in return before fishing out the glasses and the bottle. It wasn't long before the cork was out, wine poured, a glass in each of your hands. 

"You should go grab it..." You said softly as he reached for his glass, "You told Jim that if he—that you would do that for him..." He watched, a bit of dismay in his eyes as he saw the pain in your own. He'd been so concerned with losing his friend that he hadn't thought to stop and think about it. He'd lost his friend, that day. You had lost two.

"I'll be right back..." He agreed, voice barely above a hushed whisper as he staggered off to his car. For a long while, you just waited. Listening to the eerie sounds of a moonlit graveyard, eyes drifting between the stone beside you and the one only a short distance away, just past the willow. All you could do is try to distract yourself.

"Ah, I can see it now, Jim," You said to the stone, a sad smirk on your lips, "It'll be written on my stone: 'She took a sip of wine and tried to pretend she hung out in graveyards all the time. Then, she collapsed from being poisoned.' That's what it'll say. Maybe something about how I betrayed you both...not only Sherlock and you, but Sebastian..." A tear rolled down your cheek. 

"He hates me for it, but then again, you were always the one who understood—"

"She's not like us, Seb. She doesn't like seeing people hurt.' That's what he said to me when you left." Sebastian's voice broke in, tone flat as he looked at you.

"He was right. You never had a the same thirst that we did." He knelt before the grave, gently placing down a small box. 

"Yeah, well, I was never as vengeful." You knelt beside him, taking a sip of wine.

"For a man who doubted I'd come, I'm a tad surprised you brought to glasses."

"Just because I was doubtful doesn't mean I didn't hope." He grumbled, laying out the box's contents. Your eyes scanned the photographs. Old pictures of the three of you,  some from as far back as when you were five. 

"How'd you know I hadn't gotten rid of these yet?" He stared solemnly down at them, eyes glistened over with what you could only assume to be tears.

"You're my husband, I know you better than anyone."


End file.
